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#formula one fanfic
minkyungseokie · 15 hours
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Three's A Crowd | Pierre Gasly + Kika Gomes
synopsis; y/n meets Kika and Pierre and they're immediately smitten. They try to express their interest, but it seems everyone except Y/n sees that
warnings; polyamory, controversial age gaps, implied homophobic family, implied religious ideology, random Portuguese and French pet names
note; requested
note2; I don't really like Kika, but it's that type where you don't dislike someone, but you don't like them either. I'm neutral about her ig
reader is African American with 3B hair
Autosports Masterlist | Main Masterlist
I do not give anyone permission to change, copy, or put my work on any other platform. It will only be on top, so if you see it, please report it. Or let me know.
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Although the relationship was new, Kika and Pierre were secure in their relationship. They trusted each other even though the the relationship was so new for them. They didn't think they'd be attracted to anyone other than each other. Kika never could've seen herself with someone of the same gender or anything.
Until they saw her.
               ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Kika was standing with Pierre in front of the Alpine garage, listening and looking around as Pierre talked to Charles about god knows what. She looked around the paddock until something caught her attention. It was an incoming group of people that included a bunch of visitors, engineers, Zhou, and a gorgeous woman who she had never seen before.
"Pierre. Pierre. Look." Kika tapped on her boyfriend's shoulder to greet his attention, "What is it?" Pierre asked, turning and putting an arm around the nineteen-year-old. "Who's that?" Kika questioned, pointing to the girl she had seen, "I don't know." Pierre answered breathily, "She's so pretty." Kika muttered and Pierre couldn't help but to agree, "But not as pretty as you." Pierre quickly added, kissing the top of her head.
"Shut up, Pierre." Kika joked, playfully slapping his chest while not taking her eyes off of the girl, "Charles, do you know who she is?" Pierre asked, pointing towards the girl who was in a pair of patchwork jeans, a yellow crop top with a weird pattern on it, and brown Prada platform shoes(if you don’t like the outfit, or you’re plus size, or you don’t wear immodest clothing, feel free to change it. I want to be inclusive!)
"Oh, she’s a friend I’ve known since her birth. She grew up with Arthur. " Charles said, "Is she single?" Another voice chimed in playfully. Lando popped up with a huge smile, showing that he was just joking, “She is single and in need of other friends or even a boyfriend. She third wheels with my girlfriend and I way too often.” Charles joked. “Introduce us to her.” Pierre blurted, eyes widening when his friends and girlfriend turned to him with questioning looks, “What? You said she needed more friends.” Pierre defended.
“She does, but preferably single friends. And not you.” Charles jested causing Pierre to clutch his pearls, “I’ll have you know, I’m a great friend, Charles.” Pierre gasped. Lando and Kika tittered at the duo, “I don’t see why I couldn’t introduce you to her. Are you coming with Lando?” Charles asked, looking to the Brit, “As much as I’d love to, I’m being called to the garage. I’ll meet her later though.” Lando offered, turning and walking off.
Charles led the way to the Ferrari garage with the couple trailing behind, “Hey, Y/n!” Charles greeted, giving the girl a tight hug, “Charlie! I’m so glad you invited me to come watch you race. I’ve missed you.” The girl said, returning the hug. “I’ve missed you too. There’s some people I want to introduce you to. This is my best friend and his girlfriend.” Charles let go of you and gestured to the couple behind him.
Pierre and Kika stepped forward with welcoming smiles, “Hello, I’m Pierre Gasly. It’s wonderful to meet you.” Pierre greeted, shaking her hand, “I’m Francisca Gomes, but you can call me Kika.” Kika introduced also holding out her hand. The beautiful woman gave them a smile and clasped their outstretched hand in both of her, shaking it in greeting starting with Pierre, “My name is Y/n L/n. It’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Gasly and Ms. Gomes.” Y/n said.
“Oh? You don’t have to call us Ms and Mr. We can’t be that much older than you.” Pierre waved off the formalities, “I’m eighteen.” Y/n spoke.
“Oh.”
After a moment of still silence, Kika spoke up, “Well, I’m only a year older. Just call me Kika and him, Pierre. No need to be formal with us.” Kika said, “Oui, any friends of Charles is a friend of ours.” Pierre added.
“Well, I hope to become good friends with you.”
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It's been four long and beautiful years of friendship for the three since then, or, Y/n thought it was friendship. Kika and Pierre had fallen for the charm of the curly-haired beauty only a few months into the friendship. It took a bit of denial and acceptance for both, mostly on Kika's part since she's never been interested in another woman ever in her life, but the two eventually agreed that they would pursue the girl, but only after they tested out the waters.
After they were sure that they really wanted to be with her as more than friends, they began to fully pursue her. They flirted, they gifted her things, they joked, they laughed, they invited her on dates (that she didn't know were dates), and they were touchy. They were sure that Y/n would catch the hint and let them know whether she was comfortable with what they were doing or not, but there's one thing they didn't account for.
Y/n being completely unaware and oblivious of their intentions.
The girl knew so much about a lot of things, but not when people were flirting with her. And now it's been going on for three and a half years. They've given so many hints that literally everyone except Y/n knew that the couple were into her the way they were.
"Pierre, why don't you just tell her that you're into her?" Esteban asked, putting an arm around his girlfriend's shoulders, "I'm not sure, but we agreed to not just spring it on her like that. We wanted to ease her into it, but does not getting the hint." Pierre sighed. "She's not going to get it unless you tell her. She's been like this all her life, which is why she never had a relationship before." Charles explained, "She's never been in a relationship? How? She's gorgeous." Pierre scoffed.
"Didn't you hear him, mate? It's because she's oblivious." Lando spoke up, joining the group who were standing in front of McLaren garage like a bunch of gossiping high schoolers. "What are we talking about?" Lewis asked as he and Carlos joined the group, "You know how Pierre and Kika are into Y/n? We were just asking him any they didn't just ask her out." Charles explained. Lewis and Carlos looked at Pierre, "So why don't you?" Carlos questioned, Pierre groaned, "Kika and I felt like we shouldn't just outright ask her. We didn't want to force it on her." Pierre said.
"She's never going to get it off you don't tell her." Lewis said, "That's what I said!" Charles exclaimed, fist bumping his future teammate. "We're planting to take her out after this weekend. We're going to spend time together in Italy and maybe vacation together of the girls aren't busy." Pierre sighed, rubbing the back of his head.
"Oooh, that's a great idea. Maybe get an accommodation with only one room and one bed so you all have to share." Lando offered teasingly, "That's not a bad idea actually." Pierre muttered. "Where are you thinking of going?" Oscar spoke up, "Probably Bali. Maybe we'll stay in Italy. We're not sure yet." Pierre answered.
Soon, the group dispersed to go to their drivers rooms to get ready for the race.
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Y/n was honestly scared. She had always been openly {your sexuality} and proud about what she was into, but falling for two people at the same time? And two people who were happily together? She felt like a villain. She didn't want to accidentally break up a happy couple because she assumed that they'd be as interested in her as she is to them.
She distanced herself from Pierre and Kika, afraid she would get too attached to couple and accidentally make them uncomfortable with her attraction to them. She still went to the grand prix because she had friends she wanted to support, but instead of going to the Alpine garage like she usually would, she went to the Williams garage to support her favorite British Thai driver and give comfort to her favorite American while she was there. "I know this really isn't my place to ask, but why are you here?" Logan asked, putting the headphones over Y/n's ears for her.
"What do you mean? I'm here for you and Alex. Plus, Lily is here and I do love Lily." Y/n answered, "Love you too!" Lily called back walking up to the duo, "No, I mean, why are you here when you want to be with Kika in the Alpine garage?" Logan reiterated. Y/n sighed, "Because I feel like I'm getting too attached to them. They're a couple who are obviously in love." Y/n said, crossing her arms, "And? They love having you around them. You make them so happy and everyone sees it. I don't think that you being attached to them is a problem." Lily spoke up. "They have something great between them. I feel like if I stay around, I'll reveal how I feel and they'll get disgusted and force me stay away." Y/n ranted, playing with one of her bouncy curls.
Lily and Logan shared a wide-eyed look. They were glad that they had a bit of time before theso they could fully talk, "Y/n, are you...in love with them? Both of them?" Logan asked. Y/n began to sniffle, "Yes! I know it's disgusting and greedy of me to not only want both of them, but to want people who are already happily in love. I know I'm a disgusting creature who doesn't deserve to live for loving someone that I was not intended to love." Y/n cried softly. Lily pulled Y/n into their arms, wrapping her arms around the taller girl's neck, "Oh, honey. It's not disgusting at all. I don't know who told you any of that, but no one has any right to tell you that you're disgusting for loving who you want to love." Lily cooed, wiping away your tears.
"Are things alright over here? Are you alright, Y/n?" James questioned, "Did you hear what we were talking about?" Logan questioned, "Admittedly, I did and I'm here to say Lily is right. Your family cannot may be your blood, but if they do not accept you for who you are and love you despite what you love, they cannot be considered family. No one has any right to tell you that you are going to die and go to hell for loving who you want to love." James comforted. "Plus, you don't need them. You have us. Logan, me, Alex, and even James. You have the Leclerc family and Kika and Pierre. We all love you for you." James reassured, "Don't push Kika and Pierre away. They care for you deeply. If you really are worried, maybe you should talk to them about it." Logan suggested.
Y/n dried their eyes off completely and took off her headphones, "I'm going to the bathroom." Y/n muttered, gently pushing past them and made her way to the Alpine garage. They were right. She can't let her family and their ideology keep her from loving who she wanted to love. She wouldn't be telling the couple about her feelings, but she would no longer be pushing them away like she was. Taking a deep breath, Y/n entered the garage and stopped next to the couple who were engrossed in a conversation, "Uh, hey." Y/n spoke up.
The couple practically break their necks turning to look the girl, "Minha linda! We were just talking about you." Kika gasped happily, throwing her arms around Y/n's neck, "We were afraid that you were running away from us. We missed you, mon bijou." Pierre joined the pseudo hug and planting a kiss on the top of her head. Esteban and Flavy watched from the sidelines, wondering how in the world Y/n just thought that these actions were nothing but platonic when it was clear that they were utterly down bad for the girl with sepia skin and thick ringlets of curls just as she was for them, "I wish they would just get together." Flavy whispered, "For real. It was cute at first, but now it's kind of sad." Esteban agreed.
"I'm sorry. I just needed some time to take care of something and now I'm here to wish you good luck." Y/n smiled up at the Frenchman, "Help me put on my helmet?" Pierre asked the girls. Kika helped him put on his balaclava before stepping back so Y/n could put the helmet on Pierre's head. "Good luck." Y/n said, patting the part of the helmet where his cheek would be and turning to walk, but before she could exit the garage, Kika pulled her back, "No good luck kiss?" Pierre  asked, which confused Y/n as they had never asked for one before. Y/n shrugged, thinking nothing of it as she had kissed the cheeks of her other friends before.
Y/n saddled up next to Pierre and planted a kiss on his helmet where his cheek would be, "Good luck out there. Do your best." Y/n repeated before turning to Kika and planting a kiss on her cheek while she had the moment of bravery. "See you guys later." Y/n turned away, walking out of the garage before she busted into a ball of flames from the amount of embarrassment she was feeling.
Kika and Pierre were just watching the girl as she left with love-struck gazes, "We have to make her ours or I'll die." Kika dramatically sighed, "I agree. She drives me crazy and she doesn't even know what's she's doing." Pierre agreed with Kika nodding in agreement
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Y/n was confused and conflicted.
Y/n had been offered to come to Italy by Kika and Pierre after the GP was over as they had rented a little place on the beach for them to stay at while on vacation. She, of course, accepted the invite because she had never really been to Italy despite being all over the world. She wanted to take some time to relax and spend time with the ones she really cared for. What better way to spend the next week and a half or so before she gets gray hair during the next race.
But one thing she had not expected was the beach hut thing to have only one bed, “So we’re all sharing this one bed? Are you sure that you’re comfortable with this?” Y/n asked, looking at the bed. “Yeah, it was this or our house and we weren’t sure whether you were comfortable with that or not.” Kika explained, putting her bag down. “Where’s Pierre?” Y/n asked, “He has a couple things to do, so for right now, it’s just you and me for right now. Exciting, yeah?” Kika asked excitedly.
“Yeah, that’s great!” Y/n agreed,
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Pierre arrived at the little beach house and entered with a sigh. He had so much to do that day, he missed spending time with his girls, but at least he’d have the next day with them. Kika had posted photos of them playing in the water and Pierre couldn’t help but feel pride at how many people were asking whether he could fight and whining about how he could pull two baddies while they couldn’t even get a text back.
Pierre unlocked the door and put his suitcase to the side and walked into the room to see Kika curled up in Y/n’s arms. Pierre’s heart raced at the sight of the two people he loved being so close together and he couldn’t wait for Y/n to actually be theirs. Pierre took a quick shower and changed into his pajamas, climbing into the bed behind Y/n and cuddling up to her.
It was the best night’s sleep the three of them had ever gotten.
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forzalando · 2 months
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Orange Theory
Charles Leclerc x best friend!reader (female reader)
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summary: charles and his best friend do countless nice things for each other, but they're just behaving like any good friend would. right? wc: 2.5k author's note: ok guys so this is not the Charles fic i promised (she is still a WIP and i will finish her eventually. probably will have to be a multi-part fic with how long it's getting), but i hope you enjoy this one in the meantime! special thanks to @scuderiahoney for encouragement and inspiration. special thanks to @sof1shticated for reading and assuring me this doesn't suck. if you haven't read their fics, both Lee and Mel have some gems that i adore. HIGHLY recommend checking out their masterlists! warnings: none!
You loved summer break – Charles was home for at least a few weeks, days spent on a yacht, every afternoon and evening spent with friends either at dinner or out at some club until someone got too drunk to carry on.
Today was, in your humble opinion, the perfect day. All of your friends, courtesy of Charles, were sprawled out on the sun deck of a rented boat or splashing around in the water below. You could feel the heat radiating off of Lando as he laid next to you and whispered about how McLaren was making insane upgrades – according to him, they might just have a race-winning car in the second half of the season.
“Are you boring my best friend to tears, Norris?” The brutal sun disappeared behind Charles’ body as he stood above you – as if on instinct, he shifted slightly so that you could look up at him and not be blinded by its rays.
“She’s hanging on my every word, right, Y/N? In fact, she asked me how I’m feeling about Zandvoort and the rest of the season.”
“And?” Charles asked, a small smile on his face.
“Like I would tell you what’s going on with the car! I know Y/N can keep a secret, she would never betray me to a prancing horse. She bleeds papaya.”
You laughed along with Lando – the one point of contention that had always existed in your friendship with Charles. Of course, you became a Ferrari fan because of him, but you’d always been a McLaren and Mercedes loyalist. It was something that Lando, Oscar, and George relished in.
“Alright, alright, no need to rub it in, Norris,” you giggled. “What can I do for you, Charlie?”
“I just came to give you this.”
Within seconds, a perfectly peeled orange dropped in your lap. Lando’s eyes grew wide for a moment but a swift glare from Charles had his face back to normal in no time. You missed the interaction, jumping up from your seat in excitement.
“Aw, Charlie! You are the best friend a girl could ask for,” you chirped as you started separating the wedges of fruit.
“Ah, don’t mention it,” he sighed, waving his citrus-scented hand in the air. “There’s more in the cooler if you want! Freshly peeled!”
“Thank you, mon cher ami.” You quickly kissed his cheek, noticing as you pulled away just how red it was, along with his neck and the tips of his ears. “Charles! How many times do I have to tell you to put on sunscreen? Your face and neck are fried!”
“I don’t think it’s from the sun,” Lando mumbled, his eyes trained on the fruit in your hands. With Charles insisting he was fine, you could barely hear what he had said.
“What did you say, Lan?” You asked, turning your attention away from Charles for a moment.
Once again, Lando was met with a menacing glare and he laughed awkwardly before moving his gaze to the horizon.
“Nothing, nothing, Y/N. Just thinking out loud.”
Shrugging your shoulders, you turned back to Charles and handed him the orange he had just given to you. With your now free hands, you rifled through your beach bag until you found the SPF 50 face cream you had packed that morning with Charles in mind.
“Here, I packed this for you. Please put some on so I don’t have to worry about you getting sun poisoning,” you pleaded with your best puppy dog eyes.
Charles stared without answering for far too long – anything you wanted, all you had to do was ask him and he’d do it. Even without you gazing at him with your wide, siren eyes, he would give you the world if you so desired it.
He shook his head slightly, pulling himself out of the daze caused by your pleading eyes. “Oui, ma fleur, I will put on the sun cream. Je promets.”
You smiled in triumph, taking the orange back from Charles and bidding him a “see you later” before laying back down in your lounger. Popping an orange slice into your mouth, you let out a contented sigh. Somehow, whether Charles was magic or he had some serious connections in the produce world, the fruit he picked out and gave to you always tasted better than anything you bought yourself.
“He peels your oranges for you?”
You hummed and turned to Lando – “what, Lan?”
“Does Charles always peel your oranges for you?”
“Well, no, obviously not always. Why?”
Before Lando could answer, Lily plopped down next to you and stole an orange slice from your hand.
“I swear,” she huffed, “Alex and George are competitive to begin with, but when they get together, it’s unbearable. They’ve been having a “who can hold their breath the longest” contest for the past thirty minutes! Rematch after rematch after rematch, I called in my favor with Oscar to get out of judging their little competition.”
“As if either of them could beat me, they probably didn’t ask me to join because they’re scared,” Lando bragged. “I’ll leave you ladies to chat, go show them how it’s done.”
As Lando walked towards the edge of the boat, you and Lily turned towards one another.
“Men,” you scoffed in unison, following it up with belly laughs and lingering giggles.
As the laughter died down, Lily ate the orange slice she had stolen from you and practically moaned in delight. “Where did you get this orange? It might be the best I’ve ever had!”
“It’s from Charles! I was just thinking about this, I don’t know how he does it but he always has the best fruit. Every time he brings me any I am both ecstatic and pissed off – my fruit is never as good as his and we shop at the same grocery store!”
“Well, does he have any more oranges? I could eat 20 of these.”
“He said he left me more in his cooler, let me grab them.”
A few moments later, you walked back to Lily with a bag of peeled oranges in your right hand and two bottles of water in your left.
“Are you a professional orange peeler? You were only gone for two minutes.”
“Oh no,” you giggled, “Charles peeled them for me. He knows I don’t like peeling them so when he can, he always does it for me.”
“Y/N,” Lily looked at you suspiciously, “do you know what the orange peel theory is?”
You wracked your brain but came up empty. “No, what is it?”
Lily went into a brief explanation – something about how it became a viral tik tok challenge, people asking their partners if they would peel an orange for them and how it was an indicator of true love, soulmates, a healthy relationship, and everything in between. “Well, that’s just silly,” you mumbled through chews, orange juice dribbling down your chin. “I think it just means someone is a good person – Charlie and I aren’t anything more than friends and he peels my oranges, among other things, because he has a good heart.”
“Among other things?” Lily pressed you, her eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place.
“He slices my apples because I have never been able to master the apple corer contraption! And he takes all my grapes off the stems when he’s at my place because I never do – it’s too tedious.”
“What else?”
“Oh, when we go out to breakfast, he always brings me a tea when he picks me up. He’s an early riser and I take forever to get ready. He knows I never have time to make it myself when we have plans before 10am.”
Lily was smirking at you, no, smiling at you. It was a little unnerving, the way she was entirely amused at the information you were giving her. However, the moment was briefly interrupted by the arrival of Alex.
“What are we talking about, ladies?” He spoke cheerfully, a broad smile on his face which meant that he was most likely declared the best breath holder of the 2019 rookies.
“Y/N was just telling me about all the sweet things Charles does for her,” Lily gushed.
“Oh god, when is he not doing things for her? Did you see him buttering her bread for her at dinner last week?”
Lily burst out laughing while you playfully punched Alex’s arm. “I’m indecisive! He butters it for me while I read the menu since it takes me so long to figure out what I want to order. It saves time!”
“He does that on a regular basis?” Alex asked incredulously, looking at Lily with wide eyes. “My god, that man is head over heels.”
“Alex,” you protested, “Charles is not in love with me. We’ve been friends for six years, I think I would know by now.”
“You’re both impossible,” Alex groaned. “Come on, Lily, I just came over to get you so we could play water polo with George and Carmen.”
Lily sighed in defeat, though she had a smile on her face at the thought of spending time with Alex even if it meant another competition. “I’ll see you, later, yeah?” She called over her shoulder, waving goodbye as you teased her by dramatically eating another slice of orange and settling back in your chair. At the front of the boat, Charles was laughing with Pierre and almost as if he felt you looking, he turned around and met your gaze.
Even though you had just wholly denied anything more than friendship between you and him, you couldn’t help but think about your interactions with Lily and Alex.
Sure, Charles sometimes did things that were out of the ordinary for ‘just friends’, but he had the sweetest soul of anyone you’d ever met. He always sacrificed his umbrella or jacket for you, made sure you had fresh tulips in your apartment when he was home in between races, had your favorite meal delivered to you when you were having a rough day while he was away and you missed him.
You did things for him too – cleaned his apartment when you knew he was on his way back to Monaco, left him plenty of sticky notes with words of encouragement if he was coming back from a bad race, stocked his fridge full of his favorite things. Recently, you’d been gifting him annotated books because he mentioned he wanted to read more and always enjoyed listening to you talk about your favorite novels. Since you spent most of the year apart, you decided he could at least read your thoughts.
When you could come to races, unfortunately a rare occurrence due to your graduate classes and work schedule, he made sure Ferrari hospitality had your favorite flavor of sparkling water on hand. Anytime you saw a cute dog video, you would send it to him because they always made him smile.
You’d do anything to make him smile, just as he would for you, which is what a good friend would do. A best friend, it’s what a best friend would do.
But best friends didn’t linger in doorways and stare at each other’s lips when bidding each other goodnight. They didn’t cuddle close and fall asleep in each other’s arms on a couch while watching whatever movie you had chosen because he always let you choose.
They didn’t look at one another the way Charles was looking at you now – his sunglasses pushed up on top of his head and a dopey smile on his face. He waved to you and dramatically blew you a kiss, something he always did when he caught your eye across a room, no matter who was around.
You practically launched yourself to your feet, the last remaining orange slices in your lap falling to the lounger and staining the seat with juice. It was only seconds until you were standing in front of Charles but the walk over felt like an eternity with the way the world around you disappeared and your heart pounded in your chest.
“Est-ce que tu maimes, Charles?”
The question came out in one breath, your chest heaving in anticipation for his response.
“Of course, I love you, ma fleur,” he laughed. “What’s gotten into you?”
“No,” you panted. “Do you love me, Charlie? Est-ce que tu maimes?”
“Of course, I love you,” he answered again, his eyes shining and a small smile on his face that told you everything you needed to know. “Every time I think of you, I love you. Every time I breathe, I love you.”
“Every time you peel my oranges?” You whispered, holding up your orange juice-stained fingertips. He took your right hand in his and held it up to his face to kiss your palm, his eyelashes fluttering against you gently.
“Especially when I peel your oranges. Did you know that I hate doing it too? Like, really hate it. I don’t even peel them for myself.”
You gasped in shock, watching as he threw his head back and laughed jovially.
“I’d do anything for you, ma fleur. Mon soleil. Mon cœur.”
“Would you kiss me?”
“Maybe if Pierre would leave and stop gawking at us.”
This time you threw your head back to laugh, Charles soon joining you as Pierre protested the accusation.
“No, no,” he shouted, “you didn’t even give me a chance to leave. Just started declaring your love before I knew what was happening. Which, by the way, was so obvious it was starting to get annoying. We’ve all tried dropping hints to both of you so I don’t know who got through to you, Y/N, but – ”
“Pierre!” You shouted, eyes wide and arm gesturing him away from the two of you.
“Ah, désolé, I’m leaving,” he grumbled, almost tripping over his own feet to get away as quickly as possible.
You giggled again and Charles gripped your chin softly, pulling your eyes away from Pierre and back to face him.
He leaned in gently, as if he was afraid you would back away and regret taking the leap to go from friends to something so much more.
He tasted like salt water, smelled like sweet fruit and sunscreen – you smiled into the kiss knowing that he had listened to you and put it on, even though you knew he hated the way it felt on his skin.
His fingers gripped your waist and yours trailed up his chest – both of you slightly sticky from the citrus juices and sweat from the sun.
You pulled away and nudged his nose with yours, breathing him in and wishing that this moment would never end. Charles lowered you both to the sun deck, adjusting until you were sitting between his legs and his arms were wrapped firmly around you, the two of you facing the sunset and open sea.
After a few moments, you broke the shared silence. “You know, I would have happily peeled an orange for you if you had ever asked me,” you asserted.
Charles’ hold on you softened at your admission, the thinly veiled meaning not at all lost on him as he pressed his lips to your cheek.
“I love you too, Y/N.”
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thatsdemko · 13 days
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without me? - l.norris
masterlist | pairing: lando norris x fem!reader
summary: the silence he enters to is odd… but was there ever really any silence?
warnings: smut + not intended for minors + no plot?
a/n: reminder this is 18+ content!!! I need some serious motivation to write smut so if anyone has any….
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there’s a stillness to the room that he just can’t describe. like everything in his apartment looks so picturesque, the sun setting, a dimly lit lamp in the corner. the eery sound of quietness are odd against his ears.
the sounds of the rubber against the pavement, the whirling of drills and tools, the vibration of the car still keep his body in working mode. the endorphins swell his brain with happiness and serenity as he walks from the living room towards the bedroom.
that’s when he finally begins to hear noise.
at first it’s just the faint sound of the mattress squeaking, then, he as steps closer, he can begin to hear the headboard rattling against the wall. whatever he was feeling in his brain shot straight down to his cock and spread an aching in him.
he couldn’t stand behind this door any longer. finally pressing his palm into the knob, he pushes the door gently. his eyes are greeted with the best sight; you. legs apart, vibrator in hand, your hair sprawled across the pillow case, and the oh so sweet sounds of your whimpers are flooding his eardrums.
he can’t help it, the smile that spreads is cocky. you look pathetic and helpless, like something was clearly holding you back, and god he couldn’t wait to put you out of your misery.
you didn’t head the door open, and you certainly didn’t hear the drop of his bags, but you did feel his hand grasp yours and toss the vibrator to the side.
“lando,” you whimper softly. your eyes flutter open for a brief second, you see he’s removing his belt from his waist, and in his own eyes he has some sort of thirst and desire he can’t resist.
you don’t blame him, you’d been waiting for him. you spent all afternoon cleaning to erase your mind from the nasty thoughts you had about your boyfriend. you could still see the ass and hand prints against the shower glass, you could still recall how he fucked you until both of you came collapsing onto the floor.
every part of this house was haunted with some sort sexual memory, and you had attempted to clean it all awaiting to start new ones, but that wasn’t enough. after all that, you still felt unfulfilled. so enter the vibrator, and now, finally, there was lando.
lando’s hips grind against yours, his cock fitting nicely inside you, warmth radiates off of him. your back arches in an automatic response, your body molding up into his, he pushes you down. it’s not stern, but it wasn’t a gentle gesture either, it was still hot coming from him. possessiveness was something lando never lacked.
his thrusts become harder, nonsensical words fall from his lips that range from “I missed you” to “fucking wet” and none of them strung a proper sentence. you just allowed him to take you to the place you couldn’t quite get to with a mechanical toy, and you thank him with peppering kisses to his neck that you know you’ll get shit for tomorrow.
“never fucking do that without me.” he grunts rolling off your body to lay beside you. he takes a moment to catch his breath before sitting back up, “the place is too clean.” he states.
nodding your head you turn in his direction, “do you want to mess it up again?”
“fuck yes.”
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charizznorizz · 25 days
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'why come on we're only starting the season'
My man is stronger than me cause i would bawled right there 😭😭
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scuderiahoney · 3 months
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In From The Rain
Oscar Piastri x plant nerd!reader
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Masterlist
Summary: Oscar’s looking for an easy to care for houseplant. You have just the solution. Check out the moodboard here!
Word Count: 7.1k
Warnings: none
The greenhouse is quiet in the early morning. It’s one of your favorite things. Before the customers come in, looking for flowers for their porch or vegetable plants for their gardens, it’s just you and the plants and the sun streaming in through the glass. So when somebody interrupts your morning solitude, you’re not exactly happy about it.
Sure, you’re technically open, but nobody ever gets here this early. You’re watering plants in your rain boots, a mug of coffee in your hand, when the front door swings open. You turn to look, the noise startling you.
The man who walks in looks sheepish when his eyes meet yours. He ducks under a hanging basket, nearly trips over your garden hose. His cheeks flush red. You’d be more irritated with his presence if he wasn’t being so cute about it.
“Sorry, the- the sign said open,” he says, backing towards the door.
“You’re fine. We are open,” you affirm, flicking off the sprayer before you drown the petunias in front of you. “I was just surprised to see someone in here so early.”
He laughs. It’s a nice sound. Almost as nice a sound as his voice, with an Australian accent. He stops backing away. You should probably point out that he’s standing in a puddle, but you’re not sure if that’s really your place.
“Can I help you find something?” You ask.
He takes a step forward. A thick band of sunlight shines down on the top of his head, like a halo. He brushes his floppy hair from his face.
“No, that’s okay. You’re busy, I’ll just have a look around,” he says.
You nod. “Let me know if you have any questions.”
You turn back to the flower trays in front of you. They’ll need pruning, soon. And some of the hanging baskets are getting a bit unruly- it’ll likely be time to put them on sale in the next few days, to open up space for new plants. You can hear the man walking around behind you, peering at the plants. His footsteps are hesitant, and when you look, he has his hands held behind his back. He leans close to read the signs, brows tightly wound.
He obviously has no idea what he’s looking for.
You put the hose away and set your nearly empty coffee down at your workstation in the back of the greenhouse. Then you make your way back up to the front, where he’s standing near the succulents.
“Sure you don’t want help?” You ask.
He looks up with a sheepish grin. “Is it that obvious that I’ve got no idea what I’m doing?”
“A bit,” you say, and he laughs again. “That’s okay, though. It’s what I’m here for. What are you looking for?”
He stands up straight, eyes dancing over the greenhouse. “So. I’ve been told my apartment is boring. A friend suggested a plant to liven up the space.”
You nod. A tale as old as time. He’ll either kill the plant within a week or fill his whole place with them.
“But I’m gone a lot for work,” he says. “Like, a lot. So I need something that won’t wilt the second I’m gone, you know?”
You nod. “Does your apartment get good light?”
He laughs. “I don’t know what good light means.”
“Which direction do your windows face?”
“South,” he says, confidently. “Google said that was good. Right?”
You fight a laugh. He’s a bit adorable. Trying very hard to get it right. Like this is a test with right and wrong answers.
“Yeah, south facing is great.” You gesture towards the succulents. “You could get a succulent. They can go weeks without watering, but they need lots of light.”
He nods in understanding and purses his lips. “I thought these were cactuses. Or cacti?”
“Close,” you tell him, and he smiles again. “Cacti are the ones with the spikes.”
He nods in understanding. He crouches down, then, eye levels with the little plants. Your heart is melting. You scuff one of your rain boots against the ground. You could stand here and watch the way his long eyelashes flutter as he blinks all day, but that would be creepy and you have a job you’re supposed to be doing.
“How do I know which one to get?” He says, quietly. “Like… there are so many different kinds.”
Your face breaks out into a huge grin. He’s so endearing. “I think you’ll know when you see it.”
He appears at the front cash register ten minutes later, a succulent in hand. It’s a little one, the perfect starter plant. He’s eyeing the decorative pots next to you, brows furrowed again.
“Those are too big for that plant,” you tell him, and he breathes out a sigh. “There are smaller ones on the other side of the display.”
He moves to look. You hear him shuffling, hear him pick up pots and then set them down. Then he appears again, a little pot with black and white checkerboard print on it in his other hand.
“Perfect,” you say softly. “Have you got potting soil?”
He clears his throat. “Um. No, but I’ve got a courtyard at my apartment with a garden… but I’m sensing from the look on your face that that won’t do.”
You roll your eyes playfully. Then you reach under the counter and grab one of the small sample bags of potting soil you keep on hand.
“Here. On the house.” You say. “So you can put that plant in the pot.”
“Wow. Thanks,” he says. He sets the other items down on the counter. “Thanks for all your help, actually.”
“Just doing my job,” you say with a shrug.
You bag the items carefully, making sure the plant won’t be squished. You put a care instruction sheet in the bag, too. Then you slide it to him with a smile.
“There’s a care sheet in there that should help. Enjoy your new plant,” you say. “I hope it works out.”
“Me too,” he says.
He leaves, then, and you’re left with your quiet greenhouse once again. It’s odd. Usually you breathe a sigh of relief after a customer leaves. But this time, you almost want him to come back.
…..
Two weeks later, you’re back at your workstation re-potting a sad looking philodendron. You look up from it when you hear the bell over the front door ring. The watering is already done, the hose put away, so there’s nothing for the man to trip over this time. But it is the same guy, and he ducks under the hanging basket the same way. You should maybe move it, but he seems to be the only one who’s had an issue with it. You stand up, wiping the dirt from your hands on your apron.
“You didn’t kill that succulent already, did you?” You call out.
His eyes dart to meet yours, and he laughs. “No! Promise.”
“Good. That would be a new record,” you laugh.
You let him wander the store on his own for a few minutes as you get the philodendron correctly in the new pot. Then you give it some water and take it with you to set it back out on the shelf. He’s still the only other person in the store, and he’s currently eyeing the flats of flowering plants.
“It’s actually going really well,” he says as you walk by. “He has a new leaf.”
That’s when you know the guy is hooked. He has a new leaf. The plant is no longer just a plant to him. Absent-mindedly, you wonder if he’s the type to name his plants. You set the one in your hands down on the table in front of you, your back to him so he doesn’t see your wide grin. When you turn around, you tone it down.
“That’s great,” you say encouragingly. “So I’m guessing you want another one?”
He nods, rubbing his finger over the leaf of a fiddle leaf fig. “Yeah, but I’m thinking something different this time. Something bigger.”
“You don’t want that one,” you say, and he backs away from the fig tree slightly. “Fiddle leafs are notoriously dramatic. If you left her for a week she’d drop all her leaves.”
He sighs and stands up. “What would you suggest?”
You wave him over to another area of the store. He follows eagerly, footsteps splashing in the leftover puddles from the morning watering. You lead him to a section of spiky, tall plants.
“Snake plant,” you say, pointing at them.
He’s standing next to you, and your shoulders just barely brush. A shiver runs down your spine. You try to hide it.
“Snake plant,” he repeats. “The name makes sense.”
“People also call them mother in law’s tongue,” you add. You fight the urge to check his ring finger. “But if you’ve got a mother in law I’d suggest avoiding that name.”
He laughs, and his shoulder bumps into your again. “I don’t. But snake plant sounds cooler.”
You nod in agreement. “They do well with very little water. And, they can do okay in pretty low light, too. So if you’ve got a darker area that needs a plant, it would be a good fit.”
He’s up at the register ten minutes later, plant and a pot in hand. This one is plain terracotta. You like that he’s the type of person to buy the pots, too. Some people just leave them in the boring plastic, and it makes you sad to think about. All plants deserve a nice home. You say that to him as you ring him up, and he laughs. He’s also grabbed a small bag of potting soil this time.
Your repeat the process, same as last time, and hand him the bag. He takes it, and then he hesitates.
“Thanks again,” he says, juggling the bag until it’s held in one arm. He sticks his hand out to you. “I’m Oscar, by the way.”
You tell him your name, though you’re sure he could read it off your nametag, too. When you shake his hand, you swear the warmth of it runs all the way up your arm. He thanks you again, and then he disappears out the door once again. That ache is back in your chest. You find yourself hoping he’ll be back soon.
…..
He does come back. Multiple times. He buys more succulents on one trip, asking you to help him choose between them, and then he ends up buying all three instead. Another morning he comes in and you show him a ZZ plant you’ve just gotten in that you think will be perfect for him- you don’t tell him you’ve been saving it for him at your work station. It’s just… you know it’ll look great next to the snake plant he bought.
Each time he comes to the store, he hangs around a little longer. You chat about the weather, about the plants in the store, about his plants at home. You tell him funny stories about other customers and complain to him about the rude ones. In return, he tells you about his coworkers, specifically one named Lando who he seems to get into a lot of mischief with. He hasn’t said what he does for work. You field weird about asking, so you don’t.
The 4th time he stops by, you suggest a pothos. He eyed the leaves and vines skeptically.
“The other ones looked tough, you know? Like they’d survive even if I fucked up.” He tugs at one of the vines. “Are you sure about this one?”
You nod encouragingly. “You can handle it. I promise. Plus, the cool thing about these is you can cut parts of the vines, like this,” you say, holding up one you’d taken from the workstation. “And then you stick it in water for a bit, it grows roots, and you’ve got a whole new plant.”
He raises his eyebrows. “That’s cool.”
“I know,” you laugh.
He joins you up at the front to buy the plant. You go through the same routine. This time, he’s picked out a pretty blue ceramic pot for it. It compliments the leaves well. Then he leans on the counter and the two of you start chatting. You’d had a shipment that came in last week with a bunch of dead plants, so you regale him with the story of trying to deal with the company’s customer service. In turn, he tells you a story about his family back home- one of his sisters had a dance recital, his mother tried to videotape it for him, he received a video of his mother’s face as she watched the recital. You don’t realize how long the two of you have been talking until Jane, the next person on the schedule, walks in.
You stand up straight, face growing hot suddenly. “Hi, Jane!”
“Hi, hun,” she says, walking past the two of you. “Sorry I’m late. Bet you’re dying for your lunch break.”
She’s late? You and Oscar must’ve been talking for… forever. It had felt like only minutes. He smiles sheepishly and pushes away from the counter.
“Well, I should be going,” he says, taking the bag in his arms. “Thanks again!”
You watch him walk out the front door, unsure why it feels like you’ve been caught. It reminds you of the feeling you’d gotten years ago, when your teacher found you and the boy you had a crush on in the hallway alone. You hadn’t been doing anything wrong, but it still makes you feel strange.
“Friend of yours?” Jane asks when you walk past her to take your break.
You blink, shrugging. “I think he might be.”
…..
Oscar always comes in on Tuesdays. You avoid taking Tuesdays off and won’t admit to yourself that he’s the reason why. But when you wake up with a raging fever and a pounding head, you know you have to call in. Jane, always a sweetheart, takes your shift. When you see her two days later, it’s after you’ve already done the opening shift.
“Did you see your plant?” She asks as she breezes through the greenhouse.
You shut off the hose you’d been using to water a particularly thirsty chrysanthemum. “What plant?”
“The one your friend brought,” she says, and you only feel more confused. “He dropped it off Tuesday, said he was looking for you. It’s on the desk.”
You walk over to the workstation. Sure enough, in a tiny plastic pot- likely one from one of the succulents he’d bought-there’s a small pothos vine growing. You pick up the little plant, knocking over the piece of paper propped up on it in the process. You reach for it, finding a note written in rushed, messy scrawl.
I know you’ve probably got tons, but it felt right that you would have my very first propagation. Learned that word from the internet. Feel better soon! -Oscar
You turn to look at Jane. She’s at the register, not paying you any attention. You cradle the tiny plant close to your chest and do the same with the note. Then you tuck the paper away for safekeeping.
The plant, however, you carry with you all day. You place it in a sunbeam at the front register. When it catches your eye every so often, you feel a warmth in your chest.
…..
The next time Oscar comes in, he eyes the little plant at the register. You’ve stuck a little stake in it and tied a bow on top. He smiles softly and turns back to the display of pots. He chooses a tiny one with checkerboard print, the same as his very first purchase. You ring him up for all his items, but when you go to put that one in the bag, he grabs it and shakes his head. He slides it towards your tiny vine.
“For your plant,” he says, smiling softly.
You break into a face splitting grin. “You’re too sweet.”
His fingers brush against yours when you take it from him. You swear you feel sparks. You wonder if the red cheeks he sports as he leaves the store means he felt it, too.
…..
Another man comes into the shop early in the morning. It’s a Wednesday this time. You know it won’t be Oscar because of that, but you still look up eagerly. The guy nods, waving politely. You smile and go back to your watering. He walks the aisles, looking at the plants and never picking them up.
“Excuse me?” He says, after you’ve put the hose away. You turn, trying to hide your surprise at his American accent. “Um. Could you tell me where the succulents are?”
You grin and nod, walking over towards the area. You point them out.
“These right here,” you say. “Anything I can help you with?”
He stares at the tiny plants. “I have no idea what I’m doing. My friend, he’s gotten really into plants, and he talks about this shop all the time. Figured I’d see what the hype was all about.”
You tilt your head. He’s probably not, but it almost sounds like he’s talking about Oscar. You try and shake the idea from your head. Oscar is just a customer, he’s not going around and telling his friends about the greenhouse he goes to. He’s definitely not telling them about you.
“Succulents are a good place to start,” you say.
He sighs. “I don’t have much of a green thumb. I don’t think I’ll be very good at this.”
“Well, it’s worth a try.” You say with a shrug. “You might surprise yourself.”
He ends up picking out a little succulent. He doesn’t go for a decorative pot. He seems wholly unconfident in his ability to keep it alive for more than a few days. Still, he smiles as he’s leaving. He pauses in the doorway.
“You know, I thought Oscar was exaggerating when he told me about you,” he says. “But I get it now.”
He’s out the door before you can even form a syllable, let alone a word or a sentence. You think about chasing after him and asking what the hell that even means, but you stay rooted there. Oscar talks about you. To his friends. You swear your heartbeat doesn’t slow all morning, and the heat in your cheeks stays there all day.
…..
Oscar comes rushing into the shop the next Tuesday. He has a brown paper bag in his arms, and his eyes are wide. He’s breathing heavily, like he’s been running. You stand up, setting the garden hose down. He nearly slips on a puddle as he rushes over to you, and you reach out to steady him.
“I just got home last night,” he rushes, “and something’s wrong with- with Greg.”
“Greg?” You ask, leaning to peer into the bag.
“My succulent,” he says. His cheeks have gone red. “I name my plants. Is that weird?”
You laugh. “No, it’s not.”
You don’t tell him you’ve named your tiny pothos vine after him. You take the bag from his arms and walk to the back of the store, towards the work station. You reach in and pull out the succulent. It’s a little withered, a bit droopy. It’s also doubled in size since he bought it.
“I’ve been watering him when the soil gets dry,” he says, “and he’s still getting sunlight. I’ve tried everything- I left music playing for them when I left, so-“
Your eyes flicker up to him. He plays music for his plants. He’s the cutest man you’ve ever met. You want to take his face in your hands and kiss his forehead. Or his lips. He has these cute little freckles and moles- you’d like to draw constellations between them. Your face feels hot again. You direct your attention back to the plant as he rambles on. You frown, tugging slightly to see the roots.
“Osc, babe,” you interrupt, and he stops and stares at you. “He’s just a little root bound.”
You don’t dwell on the fact that you’ve just called him babe. It’s too late now.
“What’s that mean?” He asks, the panicky tone still in his voice.
“It means,” you start, nudging his side softly with your elbow, “that you’ve taken such good care of him that he’s outgrown this pot. He needs more soil. More room to spread out.”
His shoulders drop. The panic melts off his face. “Oh.”
You laugh. “God, I can’t believe when you came in here the first time you had no idea what a succulent even was. And now here you are, all panicked over a little wilting. You’ve become a true plant nerd, haven’t you?”
He shrugs sheepishly. “Maybe.”
“It’s cute,” you tell him, just to watch the blush creep up on his cheeks again. “Come on, let’s get him a new pot and some fresh soil.”
You lead him up to the front. He starts to pick through the display, holding the succulent up to the different options until he finds the right one. It’s a light orange.
You nod in approval. “Now you’ve got an empty pot,” you say, pointing at the original pot for the succulent. “Which means if you want, you have an excuse to buy another plant.”
“You’re so smart,” he says, eyes wide.
He rushes over to the display of succulents. While he’s picking one out, you carefully re-pot the plant into its new home. He takes his time, like always, indecisive to the very end. When he makes it up to the counter, he grins widely at the sight of the plant in its new pot.
“Thanks,” he says, softly. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”
…..
When Oscar comes into the shop on a particularly rainy Tuesday, you’re trying hastily to hide your tears. He doesn’t come in every week, but it’s just your luck that he’s here today of all days. You wave and turn your back to him, sticking to the workstation. You hear the soft fall of his tennis shoes, though, even over the sound of the rain against the greenhouse roof, and you know he’s making his way towards you.
“Everything okay?” He asks, voice low.
You turn and find him with his hands in his jeans pockets. You wipe at your cheeks hastily, hoping he can’t tell how upset you are, but knowing you look a wreck. Your hair is soaked in rainwater, and your eyes likely red rimmed and puffy. It’s confirmed when his soft smile drops into a frown.
“I’ve had a shit morning,” you tell him with a sigh.
He pulls one hand from his pocket. “You, uh. You have dirt on your cheek.”
You groan and try to brush it away. Oscar chews on his lower lip. Then he reaches out, his fingertips sweeping against the skin of your face. His hand is warm, despite the chill in the air. Tiny sparks seem to spread across your skin, following the trail of his touch. Your face grows hot.
“There,” he says.
“Thanks,” you reply.
He nods. “What’s going on? If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to, but…”
You sigh and turn away slightly, back to the plant in the pot in front of you. His gaze is so warm that you can’t stand to look at him, afraid you might start crying all over again.
“Just. Woke up late, so I was in a rush. And then I locked my car key in the car because I forgot something in the flat, and my mum has the spare key and she’s not even awake yet, so I had to walk here in the rain. And I couldn’t find my umbrella.” You brush a wet piece of hair away from your forehead. “And I slept like shit, and haven’t had any caffeine because I was late. So, yeah.”
“Shit morning,” Oscar agrees.
You nod. You finally turn to look at him again. There’s a soft look on his face, one you can’t quite place. He reaches out, places his hand flat on the counter next to yours. If you shifted your thumb just slightly, you could touch his. You want to, but you don’t.
“Sorry, I- Can I help you find anything?” You ask, blinking at him.
“You don’t need to be sorry, I asked,” he says. He rocks back on his heels and pulls his hand back. “I actually just remembered, I’m- I have to- I’ll be right back.”
He turns around and walks quickly to the front of the store. The bell dings as he walks out through the front door. You stare at the spot where his hand had been for just a moment and feel your heart shatter in your chest. You’d gone and over shared with your favorite customer, the one you thought might actually be your friend, and now you’ve scared him off. Yet another tally to add to the shit morning. You collapse into the chair behind the counter and rest your head in your hands, trying to will the tears away.
You’re not sure how long goes by before you hear the bell over the door again. And really, nobody comes in this early, so why are they choosing today of all days? You hastily wipe your face on the sleeve of your sweatshirt and stand up, plastering a smile onto your lips to greet whoever is in the store.
Your heart stutters in your chest. It’s… Oscar. He’s walking towards you, though he’s not looking at you. He has three takeout coffee cups balanced precariously in his hands. His hair matches yours now, soaking wet and hanging over his forehead. You burst into laughter as he sets them down.
“Oh my god, I thought I scared you off,” you say, brushing a stray tear from the corner of your eye.
“No,” he says, eyes wide. “You said you needed caffeine. There’s a coffee shop just down the road.”
You laugh and press your hands to the counter, leaning towards the cups. “Three cups?”
He smiled sheepishly. “I got you coffee, but I didn’t know if you wanted cream or sugar. So,” he points at the smallest of the three cups, “this is cream,” he says while digging in his pockets. Then he places an assortment of sugar packets on the counter. “And here’s sugar. The other cup is mine.”
You grin at him, shaking your head. “I knew you were my favorite customer for a reason.”
The smile he gives you in return is bright enough to make up for the lack of sun, to wash away the rain clouds, to warm your cold hands. You open the lid to the coffee and pour a bit of cream in, and then add two sugars. Oscar watches, nodding.
“I’ll know for next time,” he says.
Your heart flutters in your chest. Next time. You like the sound of that. You wrap your hands around the paper cup and let the warmth seep into your fingers before you take a sip. You sigh happily, meeting his eyes over the lid. The cup in his hand has something written on it in messy pen. You wonder if the barista tried to give him their number, and you fight back the jealous feeling at the thought.
“Thank you,” you say, softly.
“It’s no biggie,” he insists. “I owed you anyway, for saving Greg.”
He hangs out for a while that morning, leaning on your counter and chatting. You re-pot some plants and then bring them out to the displays, and he follows along. There’s something about his presence alone that warms you up from the inside out. By the time he looks at his watch and curses, muttering about having a meeting, you’re feeling much better. His hand brushes your shoulder before he leaves. You call after him to thank him again for the coffee.
He stops in the doorway, rain falling on his arm that’s extended to hold the door open. “I’ll see you soon!”
Then he disappears into the storm.
…..
You don’t see him soon. It’s not abnormal for Oscar to go a couple weeks without stopping in, so at first you don’t think much of it. Each Tuesday, though, you look up eagerly when the bell over the door rings, and your heart sinks when it’s not him. Maybe you really did over share, maybe he did get scared off. You try not to think about it.
It’s just… he was cute, and kind, and fun to talk to. He brought you coffee. You wonder how his plants are doing, if he’s still playing music for them while he’s gone. You have fleeting images in your brain of him watering the plants, taking the time to look for new leaves and check the roots. You almost wish he’d have another plant emergency, just to give him a reason to stop back in.
Eventually, after a month goes by and he hasn’t been back, you give up almost entirely. You’ll move on eventually, find a new favorite customer. You couldn’t have expected him to keep coming around forever, after all. To him, you were just another retail worker.
You do end up seeing his American friend one more time. He comes in on a Wednesday morning, just like before. He doesn’t stop and look at any of the plants, instead beelining for you. You’re working on bagging some potting soil and watch him with wide eyes.
“Hi,” you say. “Can I help you find something?”
“No, I just-“ he cuts himself off, shaking his head. “I super killed that succulent.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re Oscar’s friend, right? He didn’t help you?”
The guy shakes his head. “He made fun of me, though. Said I overwatered it.”
“How is he, anyways?” You ask.
Logan frowns. “He’s good.”
You nod. “Well, d’you want to try again?”
“No, that’s not why I-“ he sighs, rubbing his temples. “He won’t shut up about you, you know.”
You cross your arms over your chest. “Find that hard to believe, since he hasn’t been here for almost a month.”
Which is maybe a little mean spirited. And probably not something you should be saying to his friend. You wince.
Now it’s his turn to blink wildly. “So you miss him too?”
You squint at him. “Why are we having this conversation? I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Logan,” he says. “You haven’t like… reached out to him or anything?”
“How would I?” You ask. “I don’t even know his last name, let alone his phone number.”
“His last name’s Piastri.”
“That feels like information you shouldn’t be giving away to strangers.”
He’s not listening, though. Something seems to have clicked in his head. His eyes go wide and he starts to back away.
“I have to go,” he says. “Thanks!”
You’ve had a lot of strange interactions while working retail, but that one comes in pretty high on the list. And it leaves you wondering about Oscar, which is something you’re trying desperately not to do. All in all, not a great day.
…..
Two weeks later, you clock out of your Tuesday shift around lunchtime and head down the street. It’s raining again, but at least this time you’re armed with a raincoat and an umbrella. Your car is parked nearby, but you’re in the mood for coffee and warm food, so you head to the cafe nearby. You try not to think about the time Oscar had brought you coffee from there. You can’t help picturing his soft smile, eyes trained on the cups balanced precariously in his hands.
You make it halfway to the cafe before a gust of wind hits your umbrella at just the right angle and snaps the metal supports. Then, as if the universe is playing a cruel trick on you, a car speeds by on the road next to you, hits a puddle, and sprays you with muddy water. It soaks through your clothes and onto your skin nearly immediately. You fight the urge to ball your hands into fists and yell dramatically at the sky.
“Shit,” someone says, and the sound of his voice makes your breath catch in your chest. Then he says your name.
You turn, coming face to face with Oscar. Well. Okay. He’s studying you with a pained look on his face and standing under an umbrella.
“Yeah, shit,” you mutter, shaking water from your hands. “Oh my God. Hi, by the way. It’s been a bit.”
“It has,” he agrees, shuffling closer to hold the umbrella over you. “Here. Um. You okay?”
You shrug. “S’just water. I won’t melt.”
Oscar laughs- god, you’ve missed that sound- and nudges your shoulder. “You’ve got bad luck with rainstorms, huh?”
You nod. You’re trying not to freak out at the fact that he’s here. Oscar is standing next to you, holding his umbrella over your head. He’s here and he’s talking to you and he’s feeling sympathetic, which maybe means he doesn’t think you’re completely crazy.
“S’what I get for trying to go get coffee,” you say over the sound of raindrops on the umbrella. “And lunch. Now I’ve got to drive home like this.”
Oscar frowns, his whole face crumpling with it. “Hey, you know… I live just a block down. If you want, you could come and change into some dry clothes.”
Your mother would kill you for even considering it. You can practically hear her yelling in your head. But god, it’s Oscar. It’s Oscar and you haven’t seen him in a month and you might never see him again. There’s something about the soft look on his face that makes you trust him.
“Okay,” you say, quietly. “That would be… really nice. But only if you’re sure.”
“Of course,” he says.
Your shoulders brush as you walk, the umbrella over both of your heads. The two of you are nearly silent on the walk there. It’s like neither of you quite know what to say. You know you don’t. You worry he’s regretting inviting you to his place. But he lets you in the front door, leads you to the elevator, and all the way up to flat. When he opens the door, warm air pours over you like a river. You step in and toe off your boots, wincing at the squish of your wet socks.
Oscar winces, too. “Here, the bathroom’s right there,” he says, pointing at a partially open door. “I’ll go grab you some dry clothes. There’s towels in there too.”
You nod and step into the room. So far, the little bit of his apartment that you’ve seen matches up with what he’s told you. There are no shoes sitting out in the entryway. The bathroom is nearly spotless, which makes you feel a bit guilty about the dirty rainwater you’re dripping onto the floor. Oscar’s only gone long enough for you to take off your jacket.
He knocks on the door. “I’ve got clothes for you.”
You open the door, and he’s standing there, eyes squeezed shut. The clothes are held out in midair, like he’s trying to keep his distance. You laugh and take them, murmuring out a thanks. As you go to change, you hear him walk away.
You shuck your wet clothes off and drop them in the tub, shivering when the air hits your bare skin. You wipe the rainwater from your skin. Then you pull on the clothes he gave you- a t-shirt, a hoodie, and a pair of sweatpants. Plus a pair of thick, warm looking socks. All of them are baggy on you, but luckily the pants have a drawstring so you can pull them tight around your hips. You wring the water out of your hair with the towel and then wrap it around your shoulders before you step out into the hallway.
You can hear him moving around in the next room, so you head there. He’s standing at the kitchen island, which is open to the living room. He looks up when he hears you walk in, and a soft smile spreads across his face. His living room is neat and tidy, too. His plants are all lined up on the windowsill. You recognize them all from your store, and you smile.
“D’you have a plastic bag I can put my clothes in?” You ask, and he tilts his head at you. “I don’t wanna get more rainwater on your floor. Or in my car, really.”
“I mean, sure,” he says with a shrug. “Or… you could throw them in the washer. Hang out for a bit.”
He’s not looking at you anymore. You’re glad, because you’re sure you have a dumbfounded look on your face. It’s then that you notice the coffee machine running on the counter behind him, and the snacks out on the counter. Your mind is racing. He hasn’t stopped by the shop in nearly a month, but now…
“I don’t want to be a bother,” you say, unsure what else there is to possibly say.
He shakes his head, still not looking up. “You’re not.”
You cast your eyes to the window. It’s raining harder now. And god, you’ve missed him. You didn’t realize just how much until you were standing here.
“It’s been a while,” he says, turning his back to you when the coffee maker beeps. “We have some catching up to do.”
You think about letting it go. Maybe it’s enough to be here. Maybe you just shouldn’t bring it up. But really, you’re confused about the fact that he stopped coming to the store.
You tilt your head at him. “Yeah, you stopped coming in.”
“Well, you never texted me,” he says. “So I figured I’d freaked you out or something. But then Logan said he stopped by and you asked about me-“
You stare at the back of his head, bewildered, and you break in. “Oscar, I don’t have your number.”
He freezes, hand in midair, reaching for a coffee mug. He turns his head over his shoulder, and his eyes meet your again. He looks just as confused as you feel. Suddenly, your heart is racing in your chest.
“I wrote it on the coffee cup,” he says, voice quiet.
You stare at him, wide eyed. “There was nothing on my coffee cup.” He shakes his head, opens his mouth, but you keep talking. “I’m sure of it. But there was writing on yours. I know because I wondered if the barista was trying to give you her number.”
Oscar just stares at you for a moment, his lips barely parted. “Shit. I gave you the wrong cup.”
Shit, you repeat in your head. He tried to give you his number. He thought he gave you his number, and then you never texted him. He thought you rejected him. No wonder he stopped coming in.
“You could’ve just asked me for my number, you know,” you tell him.
“Yeah, but this was cuter,” he says. “It was- it was my number and this cheesy ass pickup line that Logan helped me think of and I- I really thought you just didn’t…”
“Pickup line?”
“Looking back it sounds stupid,” he admits. “But yeah. I was trying to ask you out on a date. And so when you didn’t text me…”
You cross the room, walking right up in front of him. His hands have fallen to his sides. His eyes trace your face as you smile up at him. He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek, brows slightly furrowed. You can smell the coffee now- it reminds you of when he brought you the coffee weeks ago.
“You should ask me now,” you tell him, smiling brightly.
He nods. “Without the pickup line, though.”
You pout up at him. He grins. One of his hands comes up to the side of your face, fingers cupping your jaw. His thumb prods at your cheek.
“Will you go on a date with me?” He asks, voice low.
You pretend to think about it. Pretend it doesn’t make your heart melt just to hear him say it. “Hm. When?”
He shrugs, looks around. “How about now?”
“It’s raining,” you remind him.
“We can have a stay at home date,” he suggests. “Coffee, lunch, a movie, maybe.”
You tilt your head. “Sounds nice.”
“Yeah?” He says, sounding a bit like he doesn’t quite believe you.
“Yeah,” you agree. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out since the day we met.”
Oscar laughs and leans closer. “I’ve got a lot of time to make up for, then.”
He presses his lips to yours, and your eyes slip closed. You reach up and tangle your fingers in his hair to keep him close. He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear- it’s still wet from the rain, and both of you giggle into the kiss. His hands drop to your hips, shoving the sweatshirt out of the way to hold onto you. You could kiss him for hours, you think. It’s all you’ve wanted for months now.
The coffee is growing cold on the counter. Suddenly, though, you don’t need caffeine.
He pulls away slightly, looks you up and down. “You look cute in my clothes, you know.”
You giggle and tug on the sweatshirt, pointing at the orange logo on the chest. “Thanks. Big McLaren guy, are you?”
Oscar laughs and brushes his lips against your temple. “You don’t even know the half of it.”
Then he goes back to kissing you. You’re not complaining. You’ve got all the time in the world to learn all about him.
…..
Weeks later, you corner Logan at the British Grand Prix. Oscar’s distracted by interviews, but Logan’s not busy.
“What was the pickup line he wrote?” You ask, arms crossed over your chest.
Surprisingly, he needs very little convincing. He just laughs, eyes darting to where Oscar stands behind you in the media pen. His gaze is full of amusement.
“I be-leaf we’re meant to be,” he says in a teasing tone. “He was down bad.”
You laugh and turn over your shoulder to look at your boyfriend. He’s grinning watching the two of you talk. Later, you tease him for the cheesy line, for hiding behind coffee cups and scribbled pen when he could’ve just told you. He teases you for the same, for not telling him how you felt, for not making a move. And then you look at him, knowing your gaze is terribly soft.
“I believe it, too,” you tell him.
When he kisses you, you draw constellations between the freckles on his face with your thumb. Outside, it starts to rain.
a/n: can you tell I am a big plant nerd? anyways live laugh love oscar piastri I want to help him pick out plants :)
taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me
1K notes · View notes
racinggirl · 2 months
Text
that's my girl
Lando Norris fic - requested
My inbox for requests
a/n: it took me a bit longer as I have been quite busy this last week, but it's hereeee! I hope you like it, I have to say I love badass Y/N a lot, so thank you for the request! It's a bit shorter, but we need some variation in life, don't we? Let me know your thoughts! It's not proofread, so be aware for any minor mistakes, if there are some. Lots of loveeee. Don't forget to send in requests! I love all the requests I've gotten so far 🫶🏼
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‘’What kind of snacks do you want?’’ You asked your boyfriend as you were preparing some somewhat healthy snacks before he would go live on Twitch. You were filling up a bowl with Maltesers because, let’s be honest, who doesn’t like those? You then decided to grab a knife and cut the cheese and cucumber to make the tray snacks somewhat healthier.
‘’Can you lay on the tray?’’ Lando wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, causing you to tilt your head when he planted soft kisses on your neck. ‘’You already had that snack not too long ago, mister Norris.’’ You teased, keeping your eyes closed as you felt his hands making its way under your shirt, close to your bra.
‘’Nah, ah.’’ You put down the knife and took both his hands in yours, moving them down and placing them on your hips before reaching back for the knife. Your action caused him to groan, and you simply smirked as you felt how much he needed you, because let’s be honest here, it was impossible to not feel him through his jeans.
‘’Grapes, mango?’’ You continued, focussing back on the tray of deliciousness in front of you. ‘’Chocolate covered strawberries.’’ He replied, walking to the fridge. ‘’Yeah, ehm, about those…’’ You bite your lip as you looked over at the – way too perfect – McLaren driver, who happened to be your boyfriend.
‘’No, you ate them?’’ He asked, turning 45 degrees to look at you with puppy eyes. ‘’Oh stop it! You ate my piece of cake the other day!’’ You laughed, feeling his hands on your body as he tickled you. ‘’Lando! Stop!’’ You managed to breathe out in between your laughter.
‘’You ate my strawberries!’’ He exclaimed; his arms wrapped tightly around you as you tried to somehow escape his grasp. But he was strong, of course he was, he was a Formula One driver.
Talking about his job, you were proud of him. The two of you had been dating for a few years now, the world only finding out in your 3rd year of dating each other. You had no idea how because you never purposely tried to be secret about it. You never went out in public, never really posted about one another on your socials, either. You only really started doing that when people noticed your relationship.
You were almost done with your degree now, though. Meaning you had more time to come to some of his races. You loved going there, not only to support your boyfriend, but also to learn about all the behind the scenes of the sport. It was something that fascinated you ever since you started dating Lando.
However, you tried to stay out of the camera’s as much as you could. You never held hands when you walked through the paddock with him; if you walked through the paddock with him. Most of the time you arrived after he did because you either had to finish some online work in the hotel room, or because you wanted to stay out of the spotlight.
You never really enjoyed being in front of the camera’s, hence why you were so invested in all the behind-the-scenes stuff. It wasn’t because you weren’t confident enough, not at all, because you were, and that’s something Lando always admired about you, especially when you started to receive hate. You just never thought being in front of the camera suited you, those cameras around you, people asking questions, it just annoyed you, and you decided you didn’t want to take a part of it.
It didn’t mean you never supported him, though. You were always there for him, and he knew. He never complained, he never told you you weren’t supportive, no. He loved how your relationship was different than the ones from all the other WAGS, he felt like he wasn’t sharing you with the entire world, that you were just his, and that’s exactly how you felt, too.
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‘’Good evening chat! Long-time no see, ey?’’ You heard Lando’s smile through the words he just spoke, waving at the camera as he leaned back in his chair. He glanced over at you, his eyes gliding over you before quickly shooting you a wink. You laughed and rolled your eyes at his action, simply knowing the chat would comment on his wink.
‘’I’m good, enjoying the off season as much as I can.’’ He smirked. ‘’Aren’t we, babe?’’ He asked and you got up, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. ‘’I for sure am.’’ You winked before walking to the kitchen to get your snacks.
You always were seated outside of the camera’s view. As much as you loved staying out of the cameras at the track, you did the same whenever he streamed. You never did it purposely, though. You never hid away from the cameras; you simply never purposely were in front of them.
‘’Grabbing snacks!’’ You yelled from the kitchen when you heard Lando read the comments. ‘What’s Y/N doing?’ and ‘Where’s your girlfriend going?’
‘’She’s getting snacks, chat. You won’t believe it, but we actually prepared those for tonight.’’ He smirked, sipping his water as he read through the comments. ‘’We?’’ You asked, raising an eyebrow with a smile. ‘’Right, sorry chat, my lovely girlfriend Y/N prepared the snacks.’’ He said, watching you placing the tray of delicious food in front of him.
‘’I’m just missing one snack on here, but sadly there’s not enough room on the tray for that.’’
‘OMG HE DID NOT JUST SAY THAT’
‘HAHAHAHA Lando naughty naughty boy’
‘DUUUUUUDE LANDO WHAT LMAO’
You sat down next to him, your legs over his as you grabbed a Malteser from the tray. ‘’You’re very original with your jokes tonight, Norris.’’ You smirked, reaching for your phone before you opened TikTok, keeping yourself entertained when Lando continued his stream.
He loved this about you, he loved the fact that even though he was live, streaming and being in front of cameras, you never backed down. You never changed when the cameras were there, you always stayed yourself. That was probably the thing he admired most about you, and things he definitely learned from you.
As the hours went by, the tray of food was nearly empty. You got up a few times to go to the bathroom, get something to drink, get some more snacks and so on. Lando got up to go to the bathroom for the second time this evening, leaving you alone with chat.
You kissed his lips before he left the room, you simply deciding to pop up in front of the camera this time. You read some messages, smiling as they told you you looked beautiful. ‘’Aw, thanks guys, or girls, that’s sweet.’’ You replied, leaning your chin on your hand as you continued reading a few more comments.
The second you heard him coming back in the room, you commented on a question in the chat, Lando sitting next to you with a smile on his face. He loved it when you interacted with his fans, which you sometimes did. It’s not like you were completely offline when it came to the fame he carried with him, you just never really bothered to become an influencer like some others did.
‘’Nah, ah, Norris, they are asking me questions now.’’ You teased, holding your hand up when he started to talk again.
‘HAHA Y/N’s such a vibe’
‘Yeah Lando, we’re chatting with your girl now!’
He simply chuckled, pecking your lips when you looked at him and he then enjoyed the scenery he saw in front of him.
After a while, you got up from your chair, going to the kitchen to refill your glass of water for the fourth time that evening, and made your way back to the room when you heard your boyfriend reading some comments out aloud.
‘Y/N doesn’t love him, she never holds his hand in the paddock, what a supportive WAG.’
You furrowed your eyebrows at that comment, and just as Lando was about to say something to defend you, you put your glass of water on the table in front of you.
‘’Last time I checked, my job title wasn’t ‘WAG’. I’m an engineer, not a runway model.’’
Lando looked at you, amazed, proud, and smiling like an idiot. ‘’You heard her, chat.’’ He smirked. ‘’That’s my girl.’’ He whispered happily.
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The end of the stream was nearing, and you got up to head to bed. ‘’Goodnight, babe, I’ll see you in a bit.’’ You whispered before placing a kiss on his lips, smiling against them as he returned the favour. You glanced over at chat one last time, feeling Lando’s hand on the back of your upper leg.
‘’Next time I’ll open the ‘WAGs Handbook’ to catch up on some of my duties.’’ You smirked at the chat. ‘’Goodnight chat, sleep tight.’’ You blew them a kiss before walking out of the room, heading straight to bed.
Not long after you positioned yourself in the king-size bed Lando had in his bedroom, you heard the door opening; your boyfriend making his way to you. ‘’You’re amazing, please never change.’’ He whispered and pressed his lips on yours, firmly.
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Later that season
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1K notes · View notes
ladcedes · 4 months
Text
two wheels
george russell x biker!reader, social media!au
summary george's new girlfriend seems way too cool for him and the fans just cannot believe it
notes bit of a longer one here (what is a plot) but i just wanted to do something fun since it's the winter break. and i love poking a bit of fun at my favs
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yourusername
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tagged: yourbestfriend and 6 others
Liked by lilymhe, georgerusselll63, and 29,412 others
yourusername that's my party people! 🍾
10 December 2023
view 116 comments
yourbestfriend for the record, everything that happened after 9pm is completely yn's fault
⤷ yourusername sooo r u still up for next week?
⤷ yourbestfriend @/yourusername 100%
⤷ yourfriend1 yn is the reason why you shouldn't drink and drive 😭
nadissodone HOLDDDDD IT 🚨🚨 george liked this post
⤷ 44formula but he wasn't tagged soo??
⤷ goatmilton what is a polar bear doing in arlington texas 💀💀💀
champagneshower no way 4th slide is george tho
liked by yourusername
⤷ jadedtrack it does kinda look like him tbf
4strobaby yn ma'am could you please confirm whether or not you have a boyfriend
liked by yourusername
⤷ 4strobaby GUYS SHE LIKED THE COMMENT THIS MIGHT MEAN SOMETHING
⤷ unevilincorporated OMG WAIT @/yourusername does that boyfriend happen to be f1 driver george russell???
liked by yourusername and georgerussell63
⤷ unevilincorporated BOTH HER AND GEORGE LIKED THAT ONE???? IT DEFINITELY MEANS SOMETHING
⤷ maroon.jpg @unevilincorporated yall are crazy why are we playing ouija board with comment likes 😭😭
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georgerussell63
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Liked by pierregasly, yourusername, and 127,384 others
georgerussell63 Pretty good start to winter break ❄️
p.s. thanks danielricciardo for the wine
18 December 2023
view 316 comments
danielricciardo Hope you guys enjoyed the wine!
⤷ yourusername the wine was a banger, will 100% be getting more
⤷ tracklimited @/yourusername oh yeah she basically just confirmed that they're together 💀
oceanblvd im almost positive that's yn's helmet theyre really not trying to hide it anymore
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yourusername • 3hrs ago | georgerussell63 • 2hrs ago / 20 December 2023
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you replied to georgerussell63's story:
i'm taking u out on another one tmr and u can't say no babe
georgerussell63:
what if i do say no?
you:
u can't. i'll kidnap u and throw u on my bike
georgerussell63:
i could run away
and i think mercedes will have something to say about that
you:
don't worry, i won't keep you for too long
besides, the team loves me
they'll let me off the hook
georgerussell63:
i don't like how i can't argue with that
yourusername
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tagged: georgerussell63 and 7 others
Liked by francisca.cgomes and 211,220 others
yourusername i should be playing in the winter snow, but imma be under the mistletoe (with youuu)
25 December 2023
view 213 comments
lilymhe nobody tell her it wasn’t snowing in london last night
⤷ yourusername i wouldn’t have known anyway tbh
⤷ pierregasly @/yourusername too busy?
⤷ georgerussell63 @/pierregasly we can’t disclose that i’m afraid.. the nda and all that 😂😂
⤷ brockenclocks @/pierregasly why is pierre always at the scene of the crime 😭😭
⤷ certifiedlvrgrrl @/georgerussell63 george wtf do u mean by the nda
mercedesamgf1 Merry Christmas from the team!
liked by yourusername
yourusername • 2hrs ago / 28 December 2023
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yourusername
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tagged: georgerussell63 and 4 others
Liked by lissiemackintosh, georgerussell63, and 52,220 others
yourusername starting the year off in the beautiful south of france 💋
📸 1&2: georgerussell63
4 January 2024
view 224 comments
georgerussell63 i think i should get credits for the 4th pic too since it was taken on my phone
⤷ yourusername georgie please just let it go 😭
⤷ georgerussell63 @ yourusername you took 50 pictures before letting me leave the bathroom and i was only in half of them.
⤷ yourusername @ georgerussell63 they're for ur personal collection 😘
⤷ moonriver @ yourusername PERSONAL COLLECTION????
⤷ sativaur @ yourusername "personal collection" yn im going insane
fonedance yn you're so fine please break up with ur bf i can treat you better than he ever will
⤷ cuntlonso realest thing i've read all day 😭😭😭
georgerussell63
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Liked by pierregasly, logansargeant, and 216,993 others
georgerussell63 A refreshing little getaway to start the year
📸 2: yourusername
4 January 2024
view 431 comments
jadedfc the way his arm wraps around her in their pics im sosoo sick
⤷ rollemodel he lowkey shut down all the haters with it too
⤷ sunburnns that should be me pls
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yourusername
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tagged: georgerussell63
Liked by georgerussell63, lilymhe and 39.238 others
yourusername trying out a couple extra wheels...
16 January 2024
view 146 comments
yourbestfriend coolest girl itw ⚡️
lilymhe so the final verdict on 2 vs 4 wheels is...?
⤷ georgerussell63 4 wins
⤷ yourusername @/georgerussell63 hell no it's obviously 2 🙄
⤷ georgerussell63 @/yourusername think that's because you lost by an entire lap?
⤷ yourusername @/georgerussell63 as if you didn't almost fall off the bike!! u're also biased
⤷ georgerussell63 @/yourusername why don't we just agree to disagree?
⤷ yourusername @/georgerussell63 you just don't wanna admit i'm right
⤷ motogp @/georgerussell63 @/yourusername🍿🍿🍿
⤷ lilymhe @/motogp pass me some, too
⤷ alex_albon @/motogp me 3
gr63stan their arguing is so adorable 😭😭
mercrarri yep i still think she's way too cool for him
⤷ landoshelmet ikr she's such a badass and he's... there
⤷ pastrydish literal she's everything and he's just ken
⤷ 4lbons she already said leave the man alone damn 😭😭
maiadrsh george russell has to be the luckiest man alive
⤷ yourusername more like sexiest man alive
⤷ alex_albon @/yourusername i did NOT need to see you say that today 🤢
⤷ georgerussell63 @alex_albon you'd better believe it 😎
⤷ alex_albon @/georgerussell63 not today, not for a single one of the past 15 years we've known each other, and not ever
⤷ yourusername @alex_albon sincerely, even i doubt that second part
⤷ silverstoned what is yn insinuating in these comments 🤨
an: i feel like every time i post a new smau i level up and introduce new formatting. also comment tags r weird bcs i wna avoid tagging real users and it irks me
bonus:
yourusername • 12hrs ago
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seen by georgerussell63, francisca.cgomes, and 153,329 others
georgerussell63 replied to your story | 16:44
"but you love me more"
"right?"
you | 16:45
"hmmmm i gotta think about it"
"i'll tell you tomorrow?"
georgerussell63 | 16:46
"..."
"i can't believe i might lose to a bike 😐"
you | 16:46
"jokes 😭"
"would you pick your car over me, though?"
georgerussell63 | 16:48
"no comment"
you | 16:49
"george."
georgerussell63 | 16:51
"i love you"
you | 16:52
"i'm coming over"
1K notes · View notes
slutforln4 · 4 months
Text
ALL MINE
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🖇️ in which your drunk best friend turns into something more, perhaps?
🖇️ request from a lovely anon! had to wreck my brain on how to write it haha. send in an ask to lmk how i did!
🖇️ warnings: 18+ MDNI !! this is an nsfw work. its also 3.1k words long...
🖇️ lando norris x reader
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It’s nearly two a.m. when you get woken up by a spam of messages from none other than your best friend, Lando.
Lando: Heeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyy
Lando: Could uou please come pcik me up?
Lando: I’n a bit drunk hahaha
You giggle at his misspelt messages and type up a quick reply as you tug on a sweatshirt and sweatpants.
You: Yeah, where are you?
Lando: You jnow the club with the huge dj table? The one I love?
You: Be there in 10.
Lando: thank youuuuu ❤️
It’s a little silly how a red heart emoji is making you blush. Lando’s always been affectionate over text and in real life, so it's really nothing new. But, what definitely is new, are the feelings you have for him.
It took you three years of friendship to realise that Lando makes you feel happier and more loved than any of your ex-boyfriends ever did. He was there for you during all the break-ups and comforted you by delivering roses to your house every week. And he still does.
You look over at this week’s bouquet of roses on the bedside table of the hotel and smile at the note. ‘Much love, Lando.’ It reads, with the sloppiest yet cutest heart you could imagine drawn underneath it.
Lando’s always been affectionate, but maybe more so when it comes to you.
Everyone else on the grid noticed the way he looked at you and he never denied it when they asked if he liked you more than just a friend. You’d sit in a corner of the garage, tucked away from all the chaos of the mechanics and the roaring engines, but you’d still watch the races intensely. And, he’d be lying if he said that he wasn't doing better with you there.
When you’re on the paddock, it's almost like you’re Lando’s good luck charm. He ends up getting high spots on the pole each time you join him on the races and watch from the side. Or maybe it was the thought that when he finished the races, you'd be there waiting for him with your arms wide open to embrace him in a hug that felt like it wasn't platonic at all. Neither of you are sure if it was.
The cold night air hits your cheeks as soon as you leave your car. Maybe it wasn't the best decision to wear sweats to a club, but it's not like you’d be there for long. You text Lando that you’re there and wait for him to read the message, but he doesn't. You text Oscar, he replies in an instant.
You: Hey, are you at the club with Lando?
Oscar: Yes, he’s been whining for you. Are you here?
You: Yeah, I’m outside the club actually. Could you please ask him to come outside?
Oscar: Give him 5 minutes to gather his stuff.
You: Alright, thank you.
You nervously clutch your phone in your hand as you lean against your car. Something feels different about tonight. Sure, you were at the race and saw him kick ass out there. Maybe it was the fact that he placed fifth and was beating himself up for it.
Back at the hotel, before he left for the club, he was ranting to you about everything he could’ve done differently.
“I’m stupid,” he sighed, sitting down on the bed next to you and placing his head in his hands. “Could’ve been P3.”
“Hey,” you softly caressed his back as you spoke. “You were amazing out there, truly. It wouldn't take a genius to notice the potential you have. This year just wasn't your year, you’ll do better next season.”
By the end of your speech, Lando had pulled you into his lap and softly caressed your hair as you played with his. “You’re right.” He smiled, fondly. “I’ll do better next season, because I have such an amazing girl like you by my side, hm?” He softly caressed your cheek and you nodded, smiling at him.
Your thoughts get cut off by the sound of Lando and Oscar talking as they leave the club. “Mate, I’m fineeee,” you heard Lando speak. He had an arm around Oscar’s shoulders to keep steady, yet was practically carried by Oscar the whole time.
“No, you’re not, you can barely walk.” You see Oscar roll his eyes as he helps Lando get to you. When Lando’s glossy eyes land on you, he grins.
“Y/N!” He exclaims, wrapping his arms around you. You reciprocate the hug, wrapping your arms around his neck and inhaling the familiar scent of your best friend. As intoxicating as it is, you manage to pull away slightly. “Why didn't you come inside? Max was downing shots like craaaazyyyyy”
“Maybe next time,” you laugh.
Lando pulls away and turns to Oscar. “This guy,” he points to him, causing a confused look on Oscar’s face. “He’s the real champ.” Lando laughs, wobbling over to Oscar. “Great job, mate. I’m very jealous and upset, but you did so great.”
“You also did really great, Lando.” Oscar smiles at Lando, “McLaren said you’ve had a great impact on the team.”
“Aw, really?” Lando grins and it warms your heart. “That’s so sweet. Listen, I will catch you later, I got a pretty girl I gotta get to, alright?”
Oscar nods and locks eyes with you, noticing the slight blush on your face at Lando’s words. “Alright, mate. Night.” He says to the both of you.
“Night, Oscar,” you and Lando reply in union and he laughs. You open the passenger door for him and he gets in, but instead of buckling up, he just sits there. “Buckle up, Lan.”
“Sleepy,” is all he says. You roll your eyes and smile at his laziness before reaching over and buckling him up. You have to try your best and ignore how his face is so close to your neck, and how you’re so close to his neck. The button-up he wore today was half-way to being fully unbuttoned and the mere glimpse of his exposed chest made you weak in the knees. “You smell nice.”
“Thanks, Lan.” You smile and start the car, driving back towards the hotel. There’s an unexpected silence in the car and you can feel Lando’s gaze on you. After looking at the rear-view mirror and seeing just how red he made you, you pray he’s too drunk to tell.
You feel his gentle tug on the sleeve of your sweatshirt. “This mine?”
You look down and realise you did, in fact, put on Lando’s sweatshirt instead of your own. “Oh, shit. Yeah, sorry. Probably mixed yours up with mine.”
“No, it's alright,” he hums. “Looks better on you. I like you in my clothes.”
You’re sure that if Lando wasn't wasted right now, he’d be giving you so much shit for being a flustered mess. But you can't help it when he’s being so sweet to you.
The hotel comes into view and you look over at Lando. He was already looking at you. “We’re here.”
He unfastens his seatbelt and opens the door, before making his way around the car to open your door. Even though he’s drunk, he remembers the little things he does for you. You’ve told him multiple times that he doesn't have to do that, you’re fully capable of opening your own door, but he persists.
Lando’s hand reaches out to help you get out of the car and the warmth of his palm in yours sends sparks through your body. He seems to notice it, but says nothing about it. Yet you notice the slight smirk on his face.
He seems to be less drunk than when he was with Oscar. He walks just fine without needing to support himself on you, but regardless, he wraps an arm around your waist and leads you into the hotel.
“Don’t you need help walking?” You laugh, slightly, as you remind him of what he was like only ten minutes ago.
“Nope,” Lando shrugs, reciprocating the smile on your lips. “Had to pretend to be very wasted so I’d have a reason to leave. I’m still a little tipsy, though.”
“And Oscar bought it?”
Lando can't help but laugh at the memory of Oscar practically dragging him out of the club. “Yeah, apparently he’s very gullible.”
You smile, looking at Lando’s face and studying every feature. The moles on his cheek and neck have always been your favourite feature of his. You love drawing shapes on his skin, as if you were connecting the dots. And that smile of his... The sight of it made you melt.
The elevator dings at your floor and Lando leads both of you towards your room. For some reason, you grow nervous. You’re nervous that this affection won’t be there when he sobers up in the morning, so you’re dreading every second until you go to sleep.
“Did you like the roses?” He asks, setting his stuff down on his bedside table.
You look over at him and smile. “Loved them. Thank you.”
“No need,” he’s quick to shut down your thanks. “I told you, you deserve it.”
“Yeah, but you’ve been sending me roses every week for months now,” you tug off your sweatshirt and get dressed for bed. Lando watches. “I don't do things like that for you, it makes me feel like it's unfair.”
“It's not unfair,” he lays down in the bed, watching as you carefully take off his sweats and place them in your suitcase. “It’s what friends do.”
“Is it?” You ask with a small smirk, getting into the bed. “Do friends also share a bed?”
“If it's cheaper, yeah.” He references the prices of the hotel and how expensive it would’ve been if you had gotten a room with two beds instead of one.
You look at him with a soft smile. “You’re rich enough to afford a bigger hotel room.”
“Are you complaining about sharing a bed?” Lando raises a brow, playfully. You shake your head. “Alright, then come here,” he raises his arm and invites you to cuddle with him. Again, not the first time you’ve done that, but something about this time feels different.
There’s something different about you when you lay your head on his chest and something different about him when he wraps his arm around you. It’s a lot more gentle. Maybe more loving?
Lando wonders the same. “Do you think friends cuddle?”
You can tell it's his tipsiness talking, but still, you reply. “Yeah, all the time.”
You feel his chest rise with a sigh. Lando’s not sure what he wants you to say. Maybe he’s looking for a reason not to be platonic with you. Maybe he’s looking for things that you two do that aren't considered platonic. Though, many would consider this not platonic. The way he’s wrapped around you is incredibly loving, if anything.
Neither of you are sure when you started doing not-so-platonic platonic things, but you’ve been enjoying it. The occasional nicknames, forehead kisses, hugs that last longer than they should, cuddles, longing stares across a crowded room.
Somehow, you always manage to find each other, even in a sea of others.
“Lando,” you look up at him and notice he was already looking at you. You’re not sure what you want to say to him. There’s so much to say, yet so little comes to mind. One look at him and all your thoughts, even the most coherent ones, become a jumbled mess.
Lando presses a kiss into your hairline. “Hm?”
You don't answer for a while. The hand that was resting draped across his torso slowly trails up to his jaw. Your fingers trace his jawbone and trail up to his moles, playing connect the dots with each and every one of them. Lando’s breathing became more jagged when your thumb traced his bottom lip.
As your hand cups the right side of his jaw, you ask.
“Can I kiss you?”
“Please.”
That’s all that it took. The soft plea that left Lando’s soft lips urged you to gently place your own against his. You don't move at first. He doesn't either. Your lips stay touching but neither of you move, either too scared of being pushy or too scared to take it too far.
Lando’s the first one to initiate any movement. His lips start moving against yours and your lips copy. It doesn't take long for you to find a good rhythm. Everyone always says you two were made for each other, and this was the moment you realised it’s true.
Your fingers tangle in his hair and his hands travel to your waist. There’s nothing awkward about this, you somehow already know what to do and how to act in a way that’s far from your usual ‘platonic’ acts.
When you softly tug on his hair as you deepen the kiss, Lando whimpers into your mouth and it might be your favourite sound. “Touch me,” he says, under his breath.
Your hand trails down from his hair, down his back, making sure to softly caress it as it reaches the hemline of his boxers. Your hand softly runs over his side, making his skin erupt in goosebumps. “Still ticklish, Norris?” You smile against his lips.
“Mhm,” he replies, his hands pulling your hips to roll against his. You feel his erection pressing onto your pelvis, making the ache in the pit of your stomach worse. “Now stop teasing me.”
The hunger in his voice makes you quicken your movements. You place your hand over his clothed erection and when you wrap your hand around it, a small moan leaves his lips. You’ve barely touched him, yet he’s a moaning mess in your hands.
Your lips press onto his harsher as you begin palming him through his boxers. There’s barely any stimulation happening to his cock, but the mere thought of you being the one to touch him like this, makes him more sensitive to any kind of physical contact with you. He wants to savour and feel every last ounce of your attention tonight, because he’s not sure what this means for your friendship afterwards.
You wrap your hand around his cock and apply some pressure when you stroke him. He’s a moaning mess, softly whimpering as you bite his bottom lip. It takes a few more strokes until you can tell he’s close, so you pull away.
Lando’s confused eyes lock with yours only to realise you’re unclasping your bra and tugging off your panties. He does the same and drops his boxers on the floor, his erection hitting his abdomen with a soft slap. It’s almost like Lando can read your mind when he lays on his back and places his hands on your waist as you sit on his thighs, not daring to take him.
“You scared?” He asks, softly. You knew he had some length, but it didn't seem that long through swimming trunks or boxers. Not to mention the intimidating combo of length and girth Lando seems to be blessed with. When you nod, he slowly flips you over to lay on your back. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”
He places a small kiss on your forehead and you feel his hand reaching down to your pussy, a finger slipping between the folds. “So wet for me.” Lando mumbles against your lips. You feel him lining the tip up with your entrance, but he doesn't move it past that.
Lando keeps it there as he softly kisses you, his lips trailing your jaw, neck, collarbone. He leaves small bites and hickeys, earning enough moans from you to last him months of remembering this moment for when he needs you again.
When you whimper into Lando’s mouth, your hips jolting closer to what you want, Lando smirks. “You want it, hm? You want me to fuck you dumb, pretty girl?”
“Mhm,” you mumble against his lips. “Please.”
You feel him pushing his cock into you, the size of it stretching your walls in a way you couldn't have ever imagined. A slow moan leaves your lips and he’s only halfway in.
“Taking me so well, aren't you?” He kisses your neck, licking a spot before softly sinking his teeth into your tender skin. It hurts but fuck, does it feel good. Lando pushes his whole length into you with a short thrust and you gasp at the sudden feeling of him hitting your cervix.
“Lando,” you call out when he slowly pulls out and slowly thrusts back in. “Fuck.”
“You can take it, baby,” he mumbles against your lips, as he pulls out slowly again. This time, his thrust is more aggressive. You feel him slowly speeding up, your moans only increasing in frequency. The shape of his cock and the way he stretches your walls makes your mind go dizzy.
Lando trails kisses down your chest, placing as many hickeys as possible. He wants to make sure you remember tonight. He wants to make sure both of you have a reminder of what happened for days to come.
“Such a good girl,” he lowly hums into your neck, resting his head against your shoulder as his tongue swirls and licks the skin between your collar and jaw. “Pretty pussy all stretched out for me.”
“Fuck,” you squeeze your eyelids shut at the new feeling Lando praising you.
“You like that?” He smirks against your jaw. “Does my pretty girl like praise?”
“Say that again,” you urge him, your hands frantically moving from his hair to his jaw to pull him in for a sloppy kiss. “Tell me I’m yours.”
“You’re mine, baby,” he kisses your lips, his thrusts beginning to turn sloppy. “All mine.”
“All yours,” you affirm against his lips, feeling your own orgasm approaching. “Fuck, Lando. Keep going.”
“You gonna come for me, huh, baby?” He says between his strained moans, his hips slapping against yours as both of you nearing your highs. “C’mon.”
“I’m about to-” your sentence is cut off by a loud moan when Lando’s hand slips between your bodies to find your clit. He starts rubbing the throbbing bud in circles, applying pressure from time to time.
“I’m right there with you, baby, let go.” He kisses you again and again, slowly slipping away to nuzzle his head into your shoulder when both of you moan in pleasure. You feel his warmth spread inside you and he’s sure he’s never felt anything like this before.
He thrusts the cum into you before pulling out and flopping on his back. Both of you are a sweaty mess, still kissing. After a short while, Lando gets up to go get a towel and clean both of you up, and you change the sheets before laying back down.
“So…” your head rests on his chest when you begin to talk. You look up at him, worry slowly filling up your system.. “Still glad you left the party?”
Lando laughs. “There's no place I’d rather be.”
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© 2023 slutforln4. all rights reserved.
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thisismeracing · 4 months
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Medusa | LN4
― Pairing: Lando Norris x reader (she/her) ― Warnings: sexual innuendos. Minors DNI!!! ― Summary: The one where Lando's burner account gets exposed, and the internet goes crazy with how funny (or dirty) he could be. ― A/n: None of the pictures used are mine, they are all from Pinterest and other apps, but the work is, and I do not allow it to be published on a different platform. I would appreciate it if those things could be taken into consideration 💛
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― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, besties! I hope you guys like this piece! Most of the jokes were taken from random screenshots on Pinterest. I wanna add a special shout-out to Dee (@struggling-with-delia) for getting to me with this idea and hipying me up to write it in less than four hours. 🤍 make sure to let me know your thoughts by reblogging and leaving me an ask! I'm considering making this some kind of series or whatever you call it, but with other drivers...hihi lets see
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leclerced · 5 months
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one more | op81
summary: oscar can’t get enough of his girlfriend after nearly two months apart.
author’s note: this is depraved. i did not mean to write this, it’s 4-5k and it was supposed to be a short blurb about oscar eating pussy and this is where it ended up. also tysm for 100 followers ily
warnings: hint of breeding kink, bit of forced orgasm st the end bc oscar is… ravenous. 18+ minors do not interact
Oscar could tell his girlfriend was unaware of how loud her begging and moaning had grown as he pushed her over the edge for a second time. He couldn’t care less how loud she got as she rocked her hips into his face and pulled his hair as she moaned his name and simultaneously begged him to keep going and whined that she was too sensitive. Her pleas as she came on his face were motivation for him to continue and he got more into it, spelling his name into her clit as he moved one hand from around her thigh to between them so he could slide two fingers into her slick cunt. The slick sound of his fingers curling in and out of her and her moans mixed together and made his cock leak in his boxers as he nibbled on her clit and she sharply tugged his hair in response.
Oscar’s eyes fluttered open as pulled his mouth away suddenly and gasped for air, if he kept going he thought he might cum like that. She blearily blinked up at him while he panted above her with that crazed look in his eyes, lips red and puffy as he sucked her wetness off his lower lip. Her chest was rapidly rising and falling as she moaned from his fingers fucking her. His eyes followed the trail of hickeys from her thigh, to her hip, all the way up her stomach, chest, and neck, until they met her kissed and bitten raw lips. He kissed his way up the bruises he’d left, blushing at how depraved he had been to do that. He couldn’t blame himself, he hadn’t seen her in weeks, almost two months, and she wore his favorite dress. It was technically a new dress, but the moment he saw her in it he decided it was his new favorite. He liked it even more when after making out against the room door he walked her backwards to the full length hotel mirror before he spun her around so he could unzip the back, watching in the mirror as it slid down her body and she was left in nothing but her heels.
He hadn’t known about the lack of underwear, if he had… jesus christ he would have faked an illness to get away and fuck her. So really, you couldn’t blame him for leaving a trail of bruises down her entire body while she begged for him to touch her.
She thought he was going to kiss her as he stared at her lips and licked his own, whimpering as his fingers pulled out of her and he held them up and scissored them in front of her face, strings of her slick spreading between them. He pressed them back together as he tapped her bottom lip and her lips parted. Oscar immediately pressed his fingers into her mouth, her tongue pressing between his digits and he groaned, “Fuck, why haven’t I done this before?” She whined around his fingers as he pressed them back on her tongue, to the back of her throat and she started to gag before she relaxed her throat. “Good girl, fuck, you’re so good for me.” His voice was hushed and breathy, and she eagerly sucked on his fingers as her eyes fluttered shut at the praise. He began fucking his fingers in and out of her mouth as he pushed his boxers down his thighs and stroked himself.
Oscar rubbed the head of his cock through her folds, collecting the wetness before he stroked it over himself a few times and lined up with her entrance. He could feel her cunt fluttering around him before he had even pushed in, and he teased her by pressing just the head in and swirling it around a few times before pulling out and repeating. His free hand slid from her hip to her lower stomach, pressing her hips down into the bed as she tried pressing herself onto his cock.
Oscar couldn’t help but admit he loved having her at his mercy like this as he pulled her apart piece by piece. He knew he was bigger than her, she was only five inches shorter than him, but he had a much smaller frame, one that made it so easy to hold her down or manhandle her to get her how he wanted her. His hand looked giant on her flat stomach, fingers stretched out spanning her smooth skin. All he needed was one single hand to hold her steady underneath him, or flip her over, pull her on top of him. And she’d let him do whatever, soft and pliable in his hands as she trusts him to do whatever he’s planning, even when his mind is running wild like now. He finally sinks into her with no warning and her mouth falls open in a moan around his fingers before she closes it again and bites softly at the tips of his fingers. He’d stopped fucking her mouth with his fingers, just rested them on her tongue and he blushed as he pulled them out and pressed his hand into the bed next to her head as he dipped down and kissed her.
Oscar’s mouth tasted like her and she whimpered into the kiss as he slowly rocked his hips into hers. The kiss was soft and languid as he moved his hand from her stomach to cup her cheek. She puffed air from her nose and it tickled his cheek, making hin giggle into the kiss. She smiled and nudged her nose against his as she broke the kiss, “This is nice, but I want.. more.” His eyebrows quirked but he didn’t change his pace. She sighed and he felt her hot breath hit her lips, “Oz, please, I can see that look in your eyes, fuck me like you want, however you want, just fuck me please.” He pulled out of her and his hands were on her hips and he flipped her onto her stomach before she could complain about it.
He pressed a pillow under her hips and his hands found her thighs and pulled them apart. She folded her arms behind her head and pressed her cheek into her arm as she looked back at him. Oscar’s hands slid up her thighs to her ass before rubbing over her cheeks and grasping at the flesh of her ass. She was so wet that it was dripping down her ass crack and to the mattress when she was on her back, a wet spot forming where she had been as he made her cum with his mouth. Now, the sight of her puffy wet cunt and asshole were sending his mind reeling as he thought about how she begged him to fuck her however he wanted.
She should have expected it when he flipped her over, and just now when she saw his hand pull back, but she was still shocked when his palm made contact with her ass cheek and sent a rush of pain and pleasure through her. She bit into her arm to muffle her startled moan as he repeated the action on the other side in quick succession. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, anxiously waiting for another spank as he moved between her legs again and pressed his cock against her clit teasingly.
His voice was low as he suddenly asked, “You said anything?” She hummed and nodded so he continued, “Can I put my finger in your ass?”
She blinked at him, shocked by his question, but wasn’t completely opposed. It took her a moment to collect herself and nod as she mumbled, “I’ve never done that before.”
He suddenly looked at her and grinned, “Me neither. I’m going to fuck you first, get you relaxed, then do it while I’m fucking you okay? I don’t have lube so I’m gonna use spit.” Her stomach clenched and she nodded a bit too eagerly and pressed her face into her arms as she blushed at his words. He pressed the head of his cock into her entrance as he asked, “Do you want a warning?” She shook her head in her arms and he grinned as he bottomed out and her back arched to press him deeper inside of her.
He began fucking her quickly, hands on her ass to hold her in place as he pulled out completely then bottomed out, the head of his cock brushing that sweet spot inside of her that made her whine his name. She was already sensitive from two orgasms, and despite her face being buried in her arms, he could hear her moans and whimpers clear as day. She was putty in his hands as he fucked her, and he couldn’t control the urge to lean down to bite her shoulder as she clenched around him as she pressed her ass back into him. Oscar kissed the bite mark he left on her shoulder and pulled back, his right hand left its place on her lip and he sucked his pointer finger into his mouth, wetting it with spit. He kept it there for a minute as he fucked her, not wanting her to be expecting it. He waits until he feels her cunt fluttering around him, on the verge of her orgasm, before he spits onto her asshole and presses his finger against it.
He teasingly rubbed her second hole, pressing the tip of his finger in. When her body doesn’t fight back, he spits on where his finger is sinking into her and presses further. Oscar could see and feel the shudder that ran through her as his finger bottomed out in her ass, her back arched beautifully and she came around his cock with no warning for either of them. It hit her like a tsunami, she didn’t realize how close she was until he’d pressed his finger inside her suddenly and she felt so much more full, could feel the stretch of his finger in her and she didn’t remember it being so long and thick when he’d fuck her pussy with it. It made her mind go blank, her body shaking as she gasped and moaned while pressing her hips back for more. He began fucking his finger in and out of her ass in sync with his cock and his other hand shifted between her thighs where they met to rub her clit with two fingers. The contact hurt at first, his fingers rough as they rubbed at her sensitive bud before easing up on her and swirling soft patterns around her.
She began gasping and whining into her arms after her third orgasm, blabbering nonsense about how good he felt inside of her, how she had missed him. She was talking so much Oscar had mostly tuned it out, eyes locked on where he was fucking her and he couldn’t think about anything else but how close he was. “Oz, please, ‘m so close.. want to feel it.” His gaze suddenly snapped up to her and saw she still had her face buried in the sheets.
“Yeah? Cum with me then, baby, give me one more and I’ll give you what you want.” She whined at his words and came a moment later as she moaned his name. The feeling of her clenching around him as she begged him to fill her up sent him over the edge, and his hips froze as he bottomed out and spilled his load in her. He pulled his finger from her ass and leaned down to bite her shoulder again teasingly. He groaned when she pressed herself back against him with a whimper. "You're fucking insatiable, you know? You want me to keep going, fuck my cum in you?" She whimpered again and nodded, and he peeled his body away from hers. His cock left her and he flipped her back over, her arms that had been supporting her head, fell above her head as she arched her hips into bed in disappointment as he stared at her dripping pussy, his cum leaking out of her. Just before she complained, he lined his cock back up with her entrance, collecting his cum that had dribbled out and pressed inside again, her pussy clenched around him and his cock twitch with over sensitivity. A shiver ran up his spine as he bottomed out and he mumbled, “Wanted to see you, baby. Open your eyes for me." Her eyes fluttered open and she blinked at him prettily as she lifted her arms to reach for him. He leaned down so she could wrap her hands around his neck and pull him down, fingers tangling in her hair as he began rocking his hips against hers. He was always unreadable with the stupid blank face, but now even more so as he stared into her eyes while licking his lips, she wanted to let her eyes flutter shut again to escape the skin crawling intensity of his gaze. She arched her back and tugged on his hair to give herself a reason to close her eyes, watching his flutter shut as she pulled him down for a kiss before hers followed just before their lips met. His lips were soft and pillowy against hers and she sighed, curling her fingers in his hair as she rocked her hips into his. He practically purred into her mouth when she scratched her nails against his scalp.
He pulled back after a moment to watch he again, eyes traveling down her bodies to where his cock was slowly gliding in and out of her, his cum coating his cock, spilling out around it when he pulled out and fucked it back in. The slick sound was sickening, he should have felt embarrassed by how turned on he was by it, and realistically this was stupid, neither of them wanted kids (at least not so young, so early in his career) but jesus christ did they rely on birth control and plan b. A condom was the last thing on either of their minds tonight when all they wanted was to be as close as possible after weeks apart. He couldn’t help himself when she let him do this to her, begged him to do this to her. He couldn’t deny her anything, much less something that felt so good.
It was supposed to be a one time thing, when they ran out of condoms without noticing they used the last one and she begged him to fuck her without one after he mentioned asking Lando for some, saying she’d rather not face that embarrassment. He hesitated, worried he wouldn’t even last, worried she would get pregnant at the start of his rookie season, but she pulled him back into bed and told him she’d had an IUD for two years and that it would last for three more, so she would be fine. He could even go and buy her a Plan B first thing in the morning.
That was six months ago and they grew careless, no longer making trips to buy them when they ran out. They’d buy them if they walked by an aisle with them, or saw them hanging on the other side of the counter when checking out, but as soon as Oscar found out there was a safety net in place… He didn’t know what got into him when she let him go bare, obviously he was still young and had plenty of stamina normally, but he could fuck her for hours, filling her over and over before one or both of them couldn’t go anymore. It was a bit disgusting, a bit concerning, the way he seemed to go feral when they ran out of condoms, not that she minded.
Oscar was pulled back to earth as she squirmed underneath him and whined his name, and he realized he’d zoned out watching his cock sliding in and out of her. He shifted his gaze back up to her and she was blushing, “I hate it when you stare at me like that.”
He laughed and leaned down to bump his nose against hers as he mumbled, “Like what?”
She shrugged weakly, “I can’t explain it you look like…” She sighed, tilting her head as his lips moved to her neck and began sucking softly, “Like you’re trying to memorize me, like you think I’m a dream you’re going to wake up from.”
He sucked softly on her skin and hummed, “I am trying to memorize you, I want to know everything about you, ‘m so completely obsessed with you.” Her cunt fluttered around him and she whined at his words and his mouth as he nipped at her throat before he pulled back and brushed his lips against hers as he said, “‘M in love with you, so sickeningly in love with you.” She tried to say it back and he pressed his lips to hers quickly before hushing her as he pulls back and looks at her again with that look, “Be quiet, ‘m not done. I want you with every fibre of my being, I think about you all the time, I couldn’t live without you. Every second of every day I am trying to memorize every little thing about you, because I’m scared you are a dream about to slip away from me.”
She squirmed under his gaze, the intensity of his words, the look in his eyes, the feel of him between her legs, it all made the knot in her stomach tighten as she whined , “I- ‘m gonna cum.” He grinned stupidly at her and dipped down to kiss her again, their lips slotting together as he picked up his pace and pressed his thumb to his clit. He couldn’t help but spell his name into it as he pushed her over the edge, just one more way of showing her how much he loves her. He feels his orgasm crash over him suddenly as she tightens her legs around him and her orgasm teases a second one out of him with no warning. He could feel her sweat slick body writhing under him with the power of her orgasm, gasping his name into his mouth as she pulled his hair and dug her nails blissfully into his shoulder, scratching down to his bicep as he rocked his hips against hers and she shuddered with the aftershocks of her orgasm.
She feels so full of him when he fills her a second time, his cock twitching inside of her as his orgasm hits him with no warning. Their would be kiss turned into them gasping and moaning into each other’s mouths as they came together. Oscar stopped moving when she stopped shaking underneath him and relaxed his weight against her, hands moved to cup her cheeks as he tenderly kissed her. She broke the kiss before he was ready and he chased her lips with a whine, but she turned her head so his lips hit his hand on her cheek. She giggled, “I love you, Oz.” His lips transformed into a grin as he pulled his hand away to sloppily press kisses into her face, his other hand pressing against her cheek to straighten her her head so he could kiss her all around her face. Her eyes scrunched shut as he pressed a wet kiss into her temple, then her forehead, her cheek, her chin. She giggled the entire time, fingers curling in his hair as butterflies filled her stomach. Just when she thought he was going to kiss her again, his head tilted down to her neck and she couldn’t help but tease as he mouthed at her skin, “Now who’s insatiable?”
He hummed, “You just.. taste so good, baby.” His teeth sunk into her skin and she hissed as he pulled his body from hers, his cock sliding out of her against her will. She tried locking her legs behind his back to pull him back in, not wanting to lose the feel of him just yet, but his hands found her thighs and pushed them open on the bed as he kissed down her body. She suddenly realized what he meant a moment before and her legs tried to close against his steady grip keeping them open and she whined, “Not again.” She felt his lips twitch into a smile as he kissed her belly button and she tugged on his hair, trying to pull him back up. “Oz, baby, you already-“
He shook his head as he pulled back to admire her pussy dripping his cum as he interrupted her, “Not like this.” Her entire body jolted as he swiped two fingers against her, her now free leg trying to close, but his body prevented it as he collected his cum on his digits. She whined pitifully as he lifted them to her lips, that sickening needy look in his eyes as he silently asked her to open her mouth for him. And she did, she would do anything for him. Her lips parted and she stuck her tongue out and his fingers immediately found their place in her mouth. He sighed and kissed the thigh that had wrapped around his shoulders before promising, “I’ll be gentle… I just… want a little taste. Let me clean you up, baby.” She whined around his fingers and her eyes fluttered shut as she nodded.
Just like he said, he was gentle. Oscar’s lips brushed from where they were kissing her thigh to her center and she felt his warm breath on her a moment before his mouth. She whimpered and twitched underneath him, body confused on if it should follow the overpowering pleasure or run from it. His tongue was soft as it lapped against her entrance and poked inside, she could have dealt with that, but his perfect nose was nudging her painfully sensitive clit and she knew she’d be cumming again as tears welled up in her closed eyes.
Oscar could feel her fingers tightening in his hair, her moaning around his fingers, could feel her swallowing the spit that collected in her mouth around his fingers. He felt bad for her as he pulled his fingers from her mouth and finally heard her breathy whimpers as her thigh twitched against him and the one still under his hand fought to press into him like the other. He was letting her do this, he might as well let her trap him where he wanted to be. Her legs immediately locked around his head and her back arched blissfully when his hand slipped from where it was holding her down to wrap around her leg and pull her closer.
Oscar was going to make her cum again, he hadn’t planned on it, he truly was just going to go in for a little taste and clean her up, but once she rocked her hips against his face he couldn’t help it. He licked from her entrance to her clit and wrapped his lips around it suddenly, softly suckling at the bundle of nerves. She was overwhelmed with pleasure, her entire body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending in her body was sending signals to her brain at once and she couldn’t think straight as she rocked towards her nth orgasm. Her body shot up and she yanked at his hair, “Oz, that’s too much, I-“ Her body flopped back and she arched her back as she interrupted herself with a loud moan. In the brief moment she’d sat up he’d seen the tears trickling from her eyes and he couldn’t help the moan that escaped him. She couldn’t form coherent thoughts or get a solid word out as he forced another orgasm out of her. She was being so good for him, he thought, as she cried above him, “Oz- I-“ She gasped and whined and he nodded against her, only drawing her closer to her impending orgasm, “Please, Oz, I’m- it hurts, baby.” He hummed and wrapped his arms tighter around her legs, lost in how good she tasted and felt on his tongue. He could feel how close she was, her entire body was pulsing under him, and he just needed to feel her cum on his tongue one last time.
He felt desperate as he nipped at the bud teasingly and she unraveled beneath him, body jerking as she whined and gasped and choked out his name before she collapsed onto the sheets again. He immediately pulled away and began kissing her thighs, apologizing between each kiss as he left a trail of cum and spit along her skin. Oscar pressed kisses all the way up and down both legs, up her stomach and up and down both arms before he began kissing her cheeks softly, the salty tears mixing with the lingering taste of cum in his lips. She felt herself coming back to earth when he was kissing her fingertips, the kisses and apologies before that lost in an orgasm induced haze. She giggled dreamily at him as he repeated sorry between each kiss to her cheeks, “Why are you apologizing, my love?”
He pressed his nose into her cheek, “Didn’t mean to hurt you.”
She blushed, “I like it when you hurt me.”
Oscar blushed too at the admission, even though he’d heard it before, and pressed his lips to hers softly before murmuring, “I like hurting you too, but I still have to take care of you baby. I’m gonna run you a bath, okay? I’ll be back.” She tried to hold him back, but he slipped away from her easily. He returned a few minutes later and scooped her up as she started sitting up to follow him. “Let me take care of you,” He replied her when she told him she could walk after he lifted her into his arms. He set her down and let her climb into the bath on shaky legs, then climbed in behind her and pulled her back into his chest.
They stayed like that for awhile, her hands finding his in the water to play with his fingers to occupy the time. He started feeling drowsy, so he forced them to sit up so they could take turns washing each other’s bodies and hair before she relaxed into his arms again, too comfortable in the hot water to get out and face the cold air conditioning. He made her get out when she started drifting off against his chest, kissing her shoulder as he sat up and moved her with him. He drained the water and dried her off with a towel before kneeling in front of her to find each bruise where his fingers had dug in a little too hard and kissing them, murmuring an apology to each one he found. He treated her like a porcelain doll as he dressed her in a nightgown before he braided her hair down her back. She kept trying to do things herself, and each time he’d pull whatever she grabbed from her hands and repeat his last words. It didn’t stop until he carried her to bed after she brushed her teeth, he tried to, sat her on the counter and put the paste on the tooth brush but she snatched it from him.
She crawled in first and kicked the fresh blanket back for him to crawl in next to her, he’d requested it as soon as he arrived at the hotel, knowing they’d end up defiling the one already on the bed. He stood in his boxers and stared at her for a moment before searching for his phone on the floor where it had fallen earlier when she’d rushed to get his pants off. He found it after kicking their discarded clothing around and found it under her shirt from earlier. He turned back to her and found her in the same pose as before, now with her head tilted prettily and her eyebrows scrunched. He took a photo of her with each step he took to the bed, until he crawled onto the bed and she laid back and held her arms out for him. He took a few more before he set one of her reaching out as his lockscreen and dropped the device on the sheets, then dropped his body into her waiting arms.
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apollosdaydreams · 5 months
Text
Let Me In
Lando Norris x Reader
Summary: You are dating Lando Norris, you love him don’t get me wrong but sometimes he can be a bit forgetful. Lando loves to game when he's not busy with racing, often streaming while he plays. When he streams it's like the outside world doesn't exist. You were coming over and you had forgotten your keys to his place, and Lando had his phone on silent. 
Warnings: None fluff, adult language. I have no clue how twitch works so sorry if i get that wrong.  
Word Count: 590
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You were currently standing outside Lando’s apartment, you had forgotten your keys and were waiting for him to answer his phone. As time went by you realized that he wasn't going to answer his phone. So you went on twitter and saw that lando was streaming on twitch. You sighed out loud and rolled your eyes. Mumbling on how forgetful he can be when you put a screen in front of his face. 
“Fucking I-Pad kid” You mummbled to you self, while slightly laughing at your situation, of course this would happen to you. It wasn't even Lando’s fault, you had forgotten the keys. 
While standing outside his door thinking what to do, you decided that you should see if he would see your comment. So you downloaded twitch and made an account. You then looked up his account and followed him, you clicked on the live and waited. Nothing happened. So you decided that the next best thing was to subscribe, so you put in your credit card info and then it went through. You then saw that you could add a message. On the screen it read “y/n y/l/n has subscribed! Please let me in Lando. :)” 
“Oh shit!” Lando said while laughing. “My girlfriend! She's on twitch telling me to open the door!” I'll be back guys. You laughed to yourself and stood there waiting. You then saw the door opening. You pretend to look mad, but that only lasted about a second before you both bursted out laughing. 
“I'm sorry baby.” He said while hugging you and pulling you into the apartment. 
“It's fine lands, it's my fault anyway I'm the one who forgot the keys.” You told him.
“But I should have been looking at my phone.” He said, while walking back to his streaming room. 
“Lando, look at me. It's fine. It's my fault, honestly it's actually hilarious.” You told him while laughing. “You better get back to you steam babe, don't want to keep them waiting for too long.” You said. 
“I'll be done soon love.” He said, before he left he kissed you and then went back into his streaming room. 
You decided to have fun watching him on your phone, as you had to pay, better put it to good use. You sat in the living room on the couch, waiting for Lando to be done streaming. 
“Sorry guys, I'm back.” Lando said. “My girlfriend was locked out of my apartment, so I had to go save her.” He said. “She had to subscribe to me!” He laughed. “I gained a subscription so I'm happy!”
You laughed out loud at this, you didn't realize how loud you laughed until you heard Lando addressing you on the stream. “Sorry guys, that was my girlfriend.” He said with the biggest smile on his face. After a few minutes of his staying on Twitch, he told the viewers that it was time for him to go hang out with you, his girlfriend. You turned off your phone and saw him walking into the living room.
“Hi baby.” He said while flopping down on the couch, his head laying in your lap. You moved your hand to his head, running your hand through his curls. 
“Hey lands.” 
“I'm sorry.”
“Lando, if you say sorry one more time I'm going to leave.” you jokingly said. “Don't feel sorry, it’s my fault I'm the idiot who forgot my keys.” 
“I love you so much,” Lando said.
“You are sleeping on the couch tonight.” You said. 
I hope you guys enjoyed this, it would be greatly appreciated if you would like, comment and repost this!! Sorry about the end it was kinda rushed. Sorry for not posting much, I'm busy with college but Thanksgiving break is happening soon, so I hope to write a lot during that time. If you guys have any ideas for me, my requests are still open!! 
Request Guidlines 
© 2023 on tumblr apollosdaydreams do not translate/remake/repost my works in any platform without authorized permission.
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minkyungseokie · 2 days
Text
Racing for Two | James Vowels
synopsis; James wants Y/n to stay home since she's ready to pop at any moment, but she wants to be there to support her grid children
warnings; pregnancy, there’s a ten-year-gap between James and reader (34 and 44)
note; requested
note2; still not very happy with James after he benched my boy Logan because Alex crashed, but I'm still gonna write for him. I added a part where he finds out
I’m am not knowledgeable enough about pregnancy as I’ve never been pregnant, so she gets over her morning sickness pretty quickly. I also apologize because this went in a different direction than where I meant for it to
Autosports Masterlist | Main Masterlist
I do not give anyone permission to change, copy, or put my work on any other platform. It will only be on top, so if you see it, please report it. Or let me know.
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Y/n groaned, hand on her stomach.
The woman had woken up feeling odd and as soon as she stood up, she had become nauseous. That led her to where she was now, bent over the toilet and puking her guts out, "Are you okay, love?" James questioned, entering the bathroom worriedly, crouching down behind her and putting a hand on her back.
"I'm okay, sweetheart. I might just have come down with a bug. Or I ate something bad." Y/n waved off his concern, "Are you sure?" James asked, "Yeah, I'm fine. Can you help me up?" Y/n asked, holding her hand out for James to grab. James grabbed the hand Y/n was holding out and helped her up, "Darling, if you're not feeling well, you don't have to come with me to the track. You can stay here and rest." James said, "James, I'm fi—"
Y/n turned and rushed to hunch over the toilet again, "I think you should stay here. You aren't feeling well and it's only free practice." James insisted, "But I want to see Alex, Logan, Oscar, and Lando. You know they've been looking forward to seeing me." Y/n groaned. "I'm sure they'll understand that you're not feeling well. If you feel better by tomorrow, you can join us for FP3 and Quali." James promised.
Y/n groaned again, "Fine. I'll stay here, but I'm ordering room service." She sighed, standing up and picking up her toothbrush. James walked up behind her, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her temple, "I'm sorry, I know you wanted to cheer your...grid kids on, but you're not feeling well. Your health is more important than anything, dear." James muttered, lips still pressed against Y/n's temple.
Y/n huffed and spat out the foam, "I guess you're right. It's only qualifying, I'll be able to join you Sunday." The woman agreed. She turned in James' arms and wrapped her arms around him, "It's okay. Order yourself something when you're hungry and make sure to get some rest, okay?" James asked, "Okay." Y/n agreed.
"I have to go now, but I'll send someone to check on you." James spoke, gathering his things, "I'll be fine, love. Have a good day. I love you." Y/n hummed, gently pulling James down by the back of his neck, "I love you too." James said, pressing his lips to hers, "Make sure you eat."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Give the boys luck from me, yeah?" Y/n let out, walking towards the bed they shared and lying down, "I will." James assured, walking out of the hotel.
Y/n picked up the phone and ordered something light to eat as she wasn't as hungry as she usually was. "Some toast and turkey bacon should be sufficient," Y/n mumbled, putting the phone back onto the receiver. Y/n sat back with a sigh, reaching for the remote to turn on a show  while she waited for the food to arrive.
Once it arrived, Y/n opened the door and took the food from the woman at the door. The smell of the food hit her nose and she began to feel nauseous until she had to drop the plate and run to the bathroom, "Ma'am? Ma'am, are you okay?" The employee asked, running into the restroom after her. The employee rubbed Y/n's back, "Ma'am are you sick? Do you need me to get anything?" She asked sweetly, "No, I'm good. I think I might be coming down with something. Although, I don't feel sick other than the vomiting." Y/n panted.
The employee's eyes widened and she began to look around, spotting signs of another person, "Ma'am, are you here with someone?" The woman, whose nametag read Kaila, asked. "My husband. Why? You don't need to call him. I'm only throwing up." Y/n assured, "Oh, no. I-- That's ...that's not what I meant. You are throwing up, but you don't seem to have a fever. You threw up at the smell of your food... There's only one thing I can think of." Kaila said. "What?" Y/n asked, "Hold on. I'm going to go get something. I'll knock on the door." Kaila informed before walking out of the hotel room, "What the fuck?" Y/n muttered.
She stood up and cleaned up the food that had fallen in her rush to get to the bathroom, "What do I eat now?" Y/n huffed, throwing the food in the trash and putting the plate on the dresser near the door.
Y/n sat back onto the bed and grabbed the remote again, "I guess I'll just have to watch some television until my stomach settles." Y/n sighed.
Y/n had forgotten that the employee had told her that she would be coming back until ten minutes later, when there was a knock on the door. "Hello, ma'am. I'm sorry for intruding like this, but I've bright you some stuff." Kaila rushed into the room, seeing the black plastic bag she had in her hand. "Pardon me, but this is highly inappropriate behavior. I—" Y/n started, "I know that this is unprofessional behavior of me, but I realized something." Kaila said, pulling out a few boxes.
"What are— Are...are those pregnancy tests?" Y/n asked, "Yes, I have been through this before. Believe it or not, I'm a mother of three, so I think I'm able to realize when one might be pregnant. Now that I look at you, you are kind of glowing. Go to the bathroom and take these." Kaila ordered, shoving the tests into Y/n's hands, "But I don't need to pee." Y/n protested.
Kaila sighed and left the room, coming back with bottles of water on her hands, "There you go. Drink and pee. I'll leave it to you. Have a good day, ma'am." Kaila placed the waters on the dessert and rushed out of the room. "What the hell was that?" Y/n questioned, looking at the door in confusion before looking at the water bottles.
With a sigh, Y/n snatched a water bottle and began drinking it slowly so she wouldn't throw it up immediately. As soon as she needed to use the restroom, she grabbed one of the boxes and took the test. "Now to wait." Y/n hummed, placing the test in the sink and setting a timer on her phone. It would be a few hours until James came back, so she wouldn't have to worry about him coming back and catching her before she was ready.
What was she going to do if she was pregnant? She knew that she and James weren't getting any younger and if they were to have children, it'd have to be before she turned at least forty. How would James feel about having a child? Y/n knew he'd want one, but they didn't really talk about when they wanted.
The timer went off, snapping Y/n out of her thoughts. Y/n stood up, taking a deep breath and entering the bathroom. She picked up the test with the screen upside down, "Whatever it is, I'm going to accept it. I'm going to be happy even if I'm not pregnant." Y/n assured herself before flipping the test over.
Pregnant
Y/n covered her mouth, tears welling up within her eyes and a lump sticking in her throat, "Holy shit. I'm pregnant. I'm having a baby!" Y/n cheered, holding the test to her chest. She was worried about how James would react, but at the same time, she was too excited to care. It would devastate her if James didn't want the baby, but she wasn't going to get rid of it. She was sweet on grabbing and raising the child, even if she has to do it by herself.
"Screw this." Y/n said, grabbing her purse, a jacket, and ordered an Uber. She wasn't planning on waiting to tell James about their growing family. She didn't want to wait, she wanted to share her joy with her husband immediately and maybe even her surrogate grid children.
She excitedly hopped out of the Uber and made her way towards the paddock entrance with her pass around her neck. "Hey, Mrs. Vowels!" A Aston Martin engineer greeted, "Hey!" Y/n greeted back. Y/n rushed through the paddock, not pausing for anyone, but making sure to greet anyone who greeted her. "James!" Y/n called out to her husband, who was talking with her grid children, Logan and Alex.
"Mama Vowels! I thought you were feeling sick." Logan greeted, hugging Y/n, "We thought you wouldn't be here. James told us that you were sick." Alex added also hugging Y/n. "I did, but..." Y/n dig into her purse and pulled out the test, "I wanted to tell you this as soon as possible."
James took a tissue and grabbed the test, "My love, are you... you're—" "I'm pregnant!" Y/n interrupted. James pulled his wife to his chest and kissed her while Logan and Alex cheered in a very Logan and Alex way. “Congratulations!” A few engineers cheered as the couple embraced each other, “Come here.” Y/n beckoned, pulling the two into the hug.
“Why are we hugging? What’s everyone cheering for?” The familiar voice of Lando Norris spoke up. The group broke apart and looked to Y/n, who had tears streaming down her face. Y/n held up the test, “We’re having a baby!” She said, “Congratulations!” Lando’s quiet Aussie teammate finally spoke up, “That’s amazing. Congratulations.” Lando said, giving the soon-to-be mother a big smile.
“I’m going to have another kid.” Y/n breathed, “What do you mean another?” Alex questioned, “You four are my kids. What do you mean? I’ve shipped you as soon as I met you guys.” Y/n said as if it was obvious.
“Well, I’m happy to be apart of your family.”
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Y/n stepped out of the car with the help of her husband, clad in maternity clothing and her stomach protruding. "You know that you could've stayed home." James told her, putting a hand on her back to make sure she was okay while walking, "I know that I don't have to, but you're in the UK, so why would I not come and support my boys?" Y/n asked, rolling her eyes as she waddled into the paddock.
"Hey, I didn't think you'd be here seeing as you look like you're about to pop any second." Lando joked, jogging up to them as they passed the McLaren garage with Oscar trailing behind. "I didn't want to miss your home race, Lando. Even if "I'm about to pop" I'd never miss out for the world." Y/n tittered, before groaning. "What's wrong? Are you okay? Do you need anything?" James questioned, "It's nothing. My feet just feel like they're on fire." Y/n answered.
"You can sit in the McLaren garage if you need to." Oscar offered, "I think you should, love. You can come to the Williams garage when you feel like you can walk without your feet hurting." James said. "Thank you, boys, but I'll be fine. I think I make it to Williams. I want to be with my husband." Y/n rejected, "Are you sure? I don't mind walking to the garage alone. You can go rest." James reassured.
"No, I want to be with you. If I do go into labour, I want to be nearby." Y/n explained, "Okay, then shall we get you to the garage?" James questioned, guiding Y/n to the Williams garage and immediately getting a chair for her to sit. "Do you need anything? Water? Snacks?" James inquired, "Can I have some ice cream if we have any?" Y/n asked, "I'll go get that for you." James said, kissing Y/n's forehead.
"Thank you." Y/n said, watching James walk away, "Hey, Mama Vowels. How are you feeling?" Alex asked, holding a bottle of water out for her. "I'm swollen and in pain, but I'm happy to be here." Y/n answered happily, "Your due date is near isn't it? Are you sure it's safe for you to be here when your water can break at any moment?" Logan asked. "You both are worth it. I can give birth at any moment, yes, but I'm not going to miss you both racing." Y/n
 scoffed playfully.
As James was coming back, Y/n felt a tightening sensation within her abdomen, "I got your ice cream." James announced, holding the packaged ice cream out for Y/n, "Are you okay, Mama Vowels?" Logan asked, bending down as the woman stared ahead of her blankly. "Mama Vowel?" Alex called, "Love?" James spoke, putting a hand on her shoulder. Y/n then felt a pop and what felt like a waterfall gushing down her leg. Y/n looked up at her husband with widened eyes and a slack jaw.
"My water broke."
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leclucklerc · 6 months
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Hard Carry CL16 - 01. It's 2018, Baby!
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Pairings: Charles Leclerc x driver!reader
Summary: It's the big year of 2018 and y/n is looking forward to win her fourth championship title. A pretty boy with green eyes won't distract her damnit!
Word Count: 4.5k
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2012
When Formula One fans talked about paid driver, they said that the position can go either two ways.
The first one, is being proven unworthy for the seat. With the highly competitive nature that the sport serves, it will only took one race, one qualifying, only one bad day, to show the world that you don't have enough experience or talent to deserve a seat in Formula One. That the reason why you're one of the top drivers in the pinnacle of motorsport is because daddy's got money.
Unfortunately - to the fans, or even to the said paid driver themselves - this scenario is often the case.
It is such a bad branding for rookie to have. To be branded as a spoiled and talentless kid that doesn't know how to do anything without the help of their famously wealthy parents. For someone that ha just entered the sport, for someone that is still searching for fans and sponsors, this kind of branding can be the death of their career.
Yet, why is there so many paid driver when the risk is evident?
The second scenario, is the most unlikely one. Though, it is still possible.
There is a probability that a paid driver can enter the sport, and show the world that they're as talented as y/n l/n, just like what she did back in 2012 when she famously entered Formula One because her dad bought the Porsche Formula One team.
It was such a controversy back then, for such a young driver - a female driver, something that the sport had never seen in decades - to easily enter the pinnacle of motorsport with the large monetary support from her dad. Back then, when it was not revealed yet that her dad had bought the team, many had anticipated her debut. When the news came out, many had muttered things like-
"Maybe she's just that talented?"
"She did won a lot of trophies in the lower category."
"Who cares? It's a sign that Formula One is finally evolving!"
"Bet she got a lot of skills."
And well, y/n does have skills. People had actually anticipated her arrival at first, saying that it’s time for Formula One to change and she will be the one to start the change.
Though back in 2012, that was not the reason why she managed to get into Formula One. Her dad, a famous billionaire from France, had bought the Porsche Formula One team and gave one of the seat for his daughter.
Cue, the many controversy.
Now, when she looked back, y/n really have to admit that the online and offline attack that she had received back then was simply atrocious. News outlets and magazines would print photos of her without her knowing, calling her a spoiled princess who is throwing tantrum and making Formula One a joke to the eyes of everyone.
Sport critics would make a whole segment with previous or current Formula One stars to talked about her. Many calling her undeserving, talentless, and many many sexist slurs that she doesn't even want to remember anymore.
While, okay, being a paid driver, it’s obvious that controversy will always follow. Thought, back then, she had thought, if she was a man, would the controversy became this big?
Paid drivers, after all, is known secret to everyone who watches the sport. Formula One is an expensive sport to start with, so it's no wonder that many people from a privileged background would start using Formula One as a chance for them to have a career outside of their wealthy family.
And don't get her started with drivers who has connections with retired Formula one Drivers!
At least half of the grid is the son or a friend or a family friend of a retired driver. If you want to talk about the sport with the most nepotism, y/n thinks that Formula One is up there.
Though, her controversy got blown up this big just because she has one thing that separates her from the rest.
She's a girl.
A girl who has no space in the world of motorsport.
Someone who doesn’t have balls hanging between her legs and somehow, it made people think that she’s less than them.
Honestly? Fuck them. 
She knows the world of Motorsport. She knows, if her dad didn’t bought the team, there is no way her dream to become a Formula One driver will come true. No matter how much they preach about equality, women in sport, or even feminism, there is no way any of these teams will even look at her.
How can she get into the sport when no one will give her a chance? When everyone in this goddamn sport will always think that the world of Motorsport is only for men and she has no place Ini it? It’s only fair for her to use her advantage so that she somehow can have an equal ground with everyone else here.
During the start of the 2012 season, y/n is already in a bad mood from the start. 
She fucked her qualifying. So fucking badly. She honestly thinks it's because of the added pressure from the press as well as the pre-race jitters that she had, almost throwing up in the garage due to how fucking nervous she is. All of those added, and yes, the result is a really bad qualifying.
P10 honestly is a really bad position when you have a car like Porsche. After all, her other teammate, Antonio Bacque, managed to snag P3 during the qualifying.
It's an embarrassing result and she really hates it. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that y/n was going to be eaten by the media with that kind of result. 
Her first interview ever since the announcement of her position was with some famous sport channel. Y/n knows them, considering the've been blasting a lot of her controversies and 'questionable' behaviors for their viewer to watch.
So she should've expected the question that they had prepared just for her.
"What do you think about your path towards Formula One?" asked the woman, blonde hair and seems to be older than her for a couple of years. "Do you think that you still deserve the seat without the help of your father?"
She had froze, eyes flicking towards he PR manager who also got her eyes widened. It seems, the interviewer had asked her a question that was not previously approved by her team. Illegal? She doesn't know. Nor she cares.
After all, she's really fucking exhausted at this point.
There are too many glances and cameras towards her way. Too many layered questions and fake  empathy from those around her. Too many, judgmental look from those who doesn't even know her personally.
Y/n is tired.
"Yes," she said, staring straight back at the camera. "Yes I deserve it."
"How so?" pressed the reporter once again. Fully knowing that she's a paid driver. Fully knowing that she had just fucked her qualifying up. Fully knowing, that she haven't shown the world her skills.
Yet.
The female stared at the camera, she's aware that her next answer will be the headline of every major sports channels the next day. That this answer can be the one to make or break her career. A brand, that will stuck to her until her retirement.
Should she play the part of a spoiled child? Or should she play the part of a hothead driver with a too big ambition? She could play with the male fantasy and become a docile and demure little girl with too much naiveté in this cruel cruel world of motorsport. To become the doll for this sport to play with without care in this world.
But she's better than that.
She's y/n l/n and knows she's worth more than those fake personas and branding. She knows that she deserves her seat and she will be damned if she didn't prove it to the world.
"Like this," 
And, she gave them the middle finger.
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In the end, all of those criticism changed during the Australian Grand Prix.
It's stuffy and unbearably hot inside the car. Her race suit didn't help much. If she's in any other situation, she would've complained to everyone that's willing to listen.
Though, at this moment, she found herself to not care.
Bright eyes stared at the car in front of her. She could see the familiar Mclaren in front of her, passing the checkered flag. She could see the Mclaren team cheering by the fence near him. Y/n could only see Mclaren in front of her.
Only one car out of 22.
"P2, y/n," breathed out her race engineer on the radio as she passed the checkered flag. There's a hint of disbelief and wonder on his tone. "Fucking P2."
She screams, no doubt flooding the team radio with her rather inhumane scream as she let go her steering wheel and hold the top of her helmet. It's a bit unbelievable, a bit hard to belief, and of course, so so fucking wonderful.
"YES!" screamed the woman. "YES YES YES! OH MY GOD!"
Y/n could hear the announcer announcing the result of the race, voice excited at what just happened. After all, today on the 18th of March 2012, a Formula One history was just made. This day would be written as one of the most memorable moments in the history of Formula One.
As she hopped out of her car, her team is already out there, ready to celebrate with her.
Some would have criticized that action as excessive, considering that she didn't won the race. Though, this race was the debut race for Porsche. This is the race where the team can show the world that they're not here to play. They're here to win.
It could be said, that both the team and y/n's goal are aligned.
The girl wants to show the world of motorsport her worth. Want to show everyone, that she deserved her seat in this sport. Want to show, in this men dominated sport, a girl like her too, can thrive.
Her team too, wants to show the world of motorsport their worth. To show everyone that Porsche Royale Formula One team is here to stay and to make history.
Maybe that's why they worked so well. Maybe, that's why both Porsche and y/n became unbelievably loyal to each other. That the team, had became her second home and y/n had become someone that the team can trust fully.
If she looked back towards that day, she can confidently say that it was one of the happiest day in her life. It was her first race in Formula One, it was the start of her historical journey in this sport, and of course, it was the day that she managed to shut every criticism that was directed at her way.
It was satisfying.
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2018
Y/n's presence is almost mythical at the grid.
Which is a bit weird, considering she had been a constant presence in the grid for years at this point. Still, it still didn't diminish the almost divine status that she had achieved amongst the fans of motorsport.
After all, there are drivers that's like that. Drivers that can command a room with their simple presence or someone that had reached so many achievements throughout their career that it sounds almost unbelievable. Drivers, that you had ever only heard of and never seen. Drivers, that had inspired the next generations of motorsport enthusiast to follow this adrenaline filled career path.
Y/n is one of those drivers.
Today is the pre-season testing and y/n is ready to retire from the sport.
"I'm going to retire," said Y/n as she groaned, stretching her back inside of Porsche's hospitality. "Like for real." 
Truthfully, the weather today is perfectly warm. Barcelona in February had never been glaringly hot. The sun is shining above them and yet the temperature didn't rise unbelievably high. It should be a good day to do your daily routine and well, for y/n, this should be the perfect weather to do the pre-season testing.
Though, the ache on her joints is saying otherwise.
A hand hit her shoulder playfully. "You're only 23" said her athletic trainer, Luca. "That's like the age where everyone started their career," he said as he slid a strange concoction of healthy smoothie in front of her. "Drink this."
"But I started my career when I was 17," whined the woman as she sniffed the drink. It smells healthy. And weird. She really doesn't like it. "It's almost 6 years, I think it's an appropriate time for retirement, or maybe a promotion. Do you think I'll make a great team principal?"
The mere thought of this woman being Porsche's new team principal sends shiver down Luca's back. "Honestly, don't even joke about that because I seriously think Herman will get a heart attack."
Y/n laughed at that. Just imagining her team principal being shocked to the point of a heart attack just because she's going for a retirement is a bit funny to her. 
It's the start of the 2018 season and she could feel excitement ringing through the air.
Somehow, the grid feels different than usual. People seems more excited, a bit wary, and yet, still excited. Y/n likes to think that it was because how exciting the 2017 season was, considering how intense the battle between her and Lewis for the driver championship title. Though, she knows that it was not the reason.
She glanced towards the cameras that littered around her.
In this season, somehow, there will be a documentary crew film documenting their 2018 season. Which is, weird. Formula One teams are notorious with their secrets and fear of corporate espionage after all. Now they're letting a filming crew to document all of the behind the scene of the season?
It's a new concept. 
Herman had told her that almost all teams in the grid had allowed the filming crew to lingered around the garage. Well, except Mercedes and Ferrari - which shocked her a bit because she really think that this kind of thing is something that Lewis would do. But oh well.
Hopefully, this kind of coverage can boost the ratings of Formula One and make the sport more known to the general public. It will be great if there's a lot of new fans who will start to watch the sport from the documentary.
"Now that there's a film crew following us around," started y/n with a snicker, leaning back on her seat. "I think it will be more dramatic for me to announce my retirement right now, no?"
Luca sighed, "Y/n-"
"I hope you're not serious about that," said a dry voice behind her. 
She doesn't even have to turn around to see who's standing behind her. "Herman!" she greeted, cheerful as always and as if she was not talking about possible retirement just a few seconds ago. "My favorite team principal, how are you?"
"Good," said the German, raising an eyebrow at her. "As long as your retirement plan stays like that. A plan."
The female nudged his shoulder playfully. "You know I love you too much for that."
"Really," muttered the team principal as if he doesn't believe what she's saying. "With how you behave lately, I really doubt that."
That, actually, made her laughed louder. "What do you mean? I've been a perfect worker!" she said, tone full of teasing. "I'll be a more star worker if our car this season is perfect like always." At this, she added a wink towards a team of mechanics that's sitting on the next table, eliciting a round of laugh from them.
"I'm counting on you then," said Herman as he took a seat in front of her. "I'm here to talk about other things."
She blinked. "What other things?"
The pre-season testing had barely started and he's already here to talk some serious stuff towards her? She's allergic to that.
"Someone wants to meet you," continued Herman as he took out his iPad, writing something on it. His thick rimmed glasses glinting. "It's a favor from a friend."
"Oh?" asked y/n. "Like,  I don't know if you're aware, I'm a pretty popular girl," she started and Luca actually has the nerve to roll his eyes at her. "Lots of people want to meet me."
"It's a favor from Fred," continue the man, ignoring her comment. "It seems they found a star driver or something, someone that they really cherish. And apparently that rookie is a huge fan of yours"
Y/n blinked at that. Fred Vasseur is the team principal for Sauber Formula One team, one of the teams in the grid right no. They never really interacted much with Sauber, though she do knows that Herman and Fred are friends. Golf buddy or something. While the Sauber team itself is not one of the top team that will compete for the championship, it's famous for one thing.
Its relation to Ferrari.
While true, it's not like Sauber is Ferrari's b team like what Toro Rosso is to Red Bull, they still have a really close partnership with each other. Like really close. So close to the point that almost every part of Sauber came from Ferrari. For Fred Vasseur himself to ask a favor to Herman for their rookie driver can only mean one thing. This rookie driver is projected to drive for Ferrari.
A competitor then, she thought idly. 
"Well, I'm honored," the woman finally said. "So where's the superstar?"
"They should be here soon-"
Just at that, someone opened the door towards Porsche's hospitality, calling Herman's name. "Herman!" greeted Fred as he entered the building with a perky energy. "And of course, y/n, always lovely to meet you."
"Freddie, Froyo, Fredman, it's been awhile," she greeted back, standing up to give the man a short hug.
Maybe it's because Sauber itself is not a champion winning team that it made them interact easier. After all, she can’t even imagine greeting Christian or Toto like this.
"Yes, yes," laughed the man, not looking the slightest bit uncomfortable at the random nicknames being used. "I told Herman already, but there's someone that want to meet you."
It was at this, that y/n realized that there's someone standing behind Fred.
A man, maybe around y/n age, a bit younger perhaps, could be seen standing a bit awkwardly. He's wearing the white and red Sauber shirt, paired with a ripped skinny jeans. From the get go, it's obvious that he seems uncomfortable at the sudden familiar setting of Porsche's hospitality. At the same time, his eyes looks excited and a bit jittery.
Y/n immediately knows that this is the future superstar. Sauber's apparent cherished rookie driver who is now being projected to be one of Ferrari's future driver.
For a career prospect, not bad. A Ferrari driver certainly is a good option. Though, y/n is sure if this Formula One driver gig doesn't work out, he can be a model or someone in the entertainment industry. Because honestly, the guy is really pretty to look at.
Warm green eyes, messy dark colored hair, and a nice face to look at. If he ever decided to become a model, he could probably be a successful one.
"Y/n," called out Fred, catching her attention. "This is Charles Leclerc, he's a big fan of yours."
He seems a bit embarrassed at that mention, what with how his cheeks started to redden and how he flail his hands around. Which is, cute.
"Really?" she said, smiling as a teasing grin entered her eyes. "Really honored, then."
Charles let out a huge smile at that, looking a bit relieved. "I should be the one saying that," he said and his English is thick with accent. French, she realized. "I've been following you since your debut."
She let out a low whistle. "2012? That's a long time," laughed y/n easily. "You were how old back then?"
"15," he replied.
"Ah, I'm only 2 years older than you then," she said, putting it at the back of her mind. "At long last, it's no fun to be the youngest on the grid for so long."
Herman coughed, eyes staring at her straight in the eyes, "There's Verstappen, he's also two years younger than you."
"But Max is way too serious!" she whined out, remembering Christian’s favorite driver. Ever. "It's no fun to tease him when he gets all broody, which is like 70% of the time."
"It's because you keep annoying him," said Herman dryly. "Anyway, Charles, correct? What do you think of F1 so far?"
Now, all of them are seated at the same table, making conversation with each other. Honestly, y/n is a bit invested at the topic. Moreso on Charles because with him entering his rookie season is like a wake up call for her.
Lately, more and more young driver debuted in F1. It started with Max and Carlos back in 2015. Younger and talented drivers with more vigor and a brand new vision for the sport. Back when she debuted, the grid was way older with more experienced driver filling up the spots. Now, it seems, the teams want to change the way they view the sport a bit.
Younger drivers started to arrive every year. Guys who had karted since they were four or guys who basically just skipped F2 straight into F1. Thinking back, it's a bit sad, because it made her realize that more of the older driver too, will retire soon. That the grid will change soon.
Hm, she thought. It's an added pressure for her.
Maybe it's because she debuted so young and had become a world champion when she was only in her second season, it made her think that she's way older than she actually is. This year is her seventh year in F1 and now she has three driver championships under her belt.
It's a bit jarring thought that she is now one of the most experienced driver in the grid.
Charles talked about his experience so far with so much enthusiasm and starry eyes that it made her want to protect him a bit. Which is normal, because to all of them, Formula One is a dream that they had ever since childhood. When they first entered the sport, it's only normal for them to look at everything with full of reverent and wonder.
The male seems to live and breathe just for racing. A feeling, that y/n can relate to.
"So you liking it so far?" she spoke up, catching everyone attention. "Does it fill up your expectations?"
"Yes," nodded Charles with a huge smile. "I'm really excited for the first race."
"Nice," grinned y/n.
Really, if anyone ever asked her what is one of the defining moment in her life, she would described this moment at one of them.
With Charles smiling in front of her inside the Porsche's hospitality, with the impending knowledge of a new generation of Formula One, and with the fear of destroying all of those Formula One hopeful dreams. It was at this moment that she decided something.
She really really wants this sport to be enjoyable for the young drivers. For them to have someone to talk to and not became a clueless little shit like she was all those years ago.
It was a decision that stayed on her mind as they continue their conversation. Herman seems interested in Charles, not that they can sign him for Porsche considering his love for Ferrari, but still, having an option is still a good one.
They stayed and chatted there until both Charles and Fred presence is needed back in the garage. 
"Hey Charles," she said a few minutes later when both Fred and the younger male was about to leave Porsche's hospitality. The younger had asked her to sign three hats, saying that it's for him and his brothers who is also a big fan of hers. 
Perking up, he motioned for Fred to walked ahead before he jogged back to where she's standing.
Pulling out of her phone, y/n let out a grin towards him, "Give me your number yeah? I think it will be fun to stay in contact."
Charles stared at her.
"Seriously?" he asked, blinking rapidly.
"Yeah."
Almost immediately, he scrambled to get his phone out of his pocket, to the point that he almost dropped it to the ground. It was such a comical sight that it made her laugh, which seems to only embarrassed him further. Maybe when they became a lot closer she can tease him more about this? Certainly a thought for the future.
They exchanged number and Charles thanked her many times, saying things that she's his idol and he really admire her. Y/n merely watched him, amused, at the blabbering, before he seems to realize that he had talked too much and excused himself in such a hurry.
Well, certainly, Formula One will be more interesting in the coming years, right?
Humming, y/n entered the Porsche hospitality once more, only to be called by Herman to discuss something.
"So," started the man, finger idly fiddling with the papers in front of them. "We need to talk about your teammate,"
"Ah," realized y/n. This is going to be a long and painful discussion.
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Drive to Survive Season 1 episode 3
It's all about Porsche
Will Buxton appeared on screen, smiling. "The thing about Porsche is," started the man. "It's a team that most drivers doesn't want to be in."
A shot of y/n talking with Herman and the mechanics could be seen. Her face is serious as they discussed details about today's Grand Prix and the car. They seems dedicated in their work, a true showcase of the prowess of one of the top team in Formula One.
Which makes Will's earlier statement a bit bizarre.
"At least, if you're not y/n l/n," continue the man with a small laugh. "It certainly not because they have a bad car-"
Porsche's Formula One car could be seen zooming at top speed, a clear indicator on how fast the vehicle is going.
"-Nor is it because it's a bad team-"
Y/n's car could be seen entering the pit stop, something that the Porsche team handle flawlessly without a hitch.
"It's because of the strict hierarchy there," laughed Will, a wry smile appearing on his face. "A really really strict one."
Herman appeared after that, eyebrow raising at the question that the producer had asked off screen. "I think it's quite obvious who will be the no.1 driver," said the man bluntly. "It's an open secret in Formula One, no? About no.1 and no.2 driver?"
Christian Horner appeared in the dark interview room, wearing a dark cardigan and a light blue cardigan underneath it. The man laughed, almost throwing his head back at that. "No.1 and no.2 driver is common in Formula One, but no one impose it as strict as Porsche," said the man, eyes full of amusement. "The team is basically a y/n cheerleading squad."
Many clips appeared after that, of team orders to let the woman through or the team failures to handle a simple pit stop when it's not y/n on the car. Articles too appeared, of how often Porsche has to change one of their driver and to find someone that is perfectly fine to be the second best in their team.
It's a team that prioritize y/n. It's a team, that undoubtedly will choose y/n l/n as their number one driver and will never budge on that decision. 
The thing is, if Porsche is not a championship winning team, this shouldn't be a problem. Many drivers are grateful to have a seat in Formula One even they ended up not in one of the top team.
But Porsche is a team that fights for championship. Their cars are fast. They're the team that fight for wins and podiums. They don't fight for points, they want wins and glory.
A complete domination. Just like their motto. And when a driver tasted that sweet sweet taste of victory, it's hard to stop.
"Formula One driver needs to think that they're the best," said Will. "It's a mindset that they need to have if they want to survive in this sport," he continued. "Can they really, give up wins for their teammate? when their direct rival is that teammate herself?"
Y/n has too much presence for her to be the number 2 driver.
She is the icon of the sport, someone that is way too talented and way too influential to be the second best driver. The team itself was basically assembled around the woman needs.
The mechanics is someone that she can easily discuss the car with, her race engineer remains unchanged ever since her debut because she's comfortable with him, heck, even Herman position is secured because y/n actually likes him as a team principal.
It's y/n l/n very own personal cheering squad and everyone knows it.
"Fighting y/n on track is already a hard fight to win," continue Will. "A really hard one."
A clip of her racing and passing so many drivers could be seen. Her skilled handling of the car, overtaking those in front of her, and being an all around driver that deserves the title of a world champion.
"Fighting y/n for a spot as Porsche's number one driver? Impossible."
"The drivers need to understand that we're fighting for championship," said Herman as the scene cuts back into him. "We need someone that can support us in that cause."
Christian appeared, laughing. "Well, there's a reason why they need to change their second driver five times since 2012," said the man, looking so fucking amused. 
Porsche after all, is y/n's kingdom.
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Taglist!
@mellowarcadefun @glai1023-blog @jjkclub @newlifeforus @jpg3 @sp1cycurry @eternalharry @be-your-coffee-pot @itsjustkhaos
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1K notes · View notes
f1byjessie · 2 months
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GET TO KNOW ME + MASTERLIST.
introduction + masterlist.
INTRODUCTION.
Hi! I'm Jessie! I got into Formula 1 in early 2023, but only really started trying my hand at writing for it in early 2024. This blog, @f1byjessie, is specifically for posting my F1 works, but my main blog━ where I follow folks and like/reblog things━ is @beecossi!
━ rules for requests.
MASTERLIST.
OSCAR PIASTRI.
━ HE LIKES MY AMERICAN SMILE. (18.5k words)
( oscar piastri x fem!sargeant!reader )
part one. part two. part three. part four. part five. part six. part seven. part eight. part nine.
LANDO NORRIS.
━ A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS.
( lando norris x fem!photographer!reader )
part one. part two. part three. part four. part five. part six. part seven. part eight. part nine. part ten. part eleven. part twelve.
FERNANDO ALONSO.
━ SUGAR, SPICE, AND EVERYTHING NICE. (5.4k words)
( fernando alonso x fem!wife!reader )
one shot.
CHARLES LECLERC.
━ IN FAIR VERONA.
( charles leclerc x fem!driver!schumacher!reader )
part one.
TBA.
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charizznorizz · 2 months
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PLEASE WHAT'S HAPPENING AGAIN IN FERRARI?! I NEED CONTEXT!! 😭😭 THE SEASON HAVEN'T EVEN STARTED YET HE ALREADY LOOKING LIKE THIS 😭😭GIVE THIS MAN A BREAK PLEASE🙏🙏
786 notes · View notes
scuderiahoney · 1 month
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Color Theory
Oscar Piastri x artist!reader
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Masterlist
Summary: Oscar’s an old friend of yours. This time when he comes home to visit, things get messy. Word Count: 6.6k
Warnings: alcohol, mild drug use, sexual content 18+ MDNI, overuse of color descriptions
It’s summer in Australia, your favorite time of year despite the overbearing sun and the overwhelming heat. Sweat spikes on your brow, but the sunlight that pours through the windows makes you happy. The door to the back garden is open, the smell of wildflowers blowing in with the breeze. You can hear your roommates chattering in the other room. You hold a paint palette in one hand, a brush in the other. There’s something just slightly off about this piece, some part of the light you’re not capturing quite right. You step back from the painting, trying to get a better view of the whole picture.
Someone calls your name from inside. You ignore them. By the third time you hear your name, you give in, setting the palette and brush down and heading inside. You’re still wearing your apron, covered in paint marks.
Lizzy, one of your roommates, smiles at you. “How’s it going?”
You sigh heavily. “Can’t get the light right.”
She nods in understanding. “We’re ordering pizza. Oscar’s on his way. Thought I’d give you a heads up in case you decide to try painting in your underwear again.”
You laugh. “It was one time,” you say defensively. “It was hot out and I was trying to become-“
“-one with the art, I know, I know,” she teases. “Just giving you a warning!”
You lean on the counter and let out a long breath. “It’s gonna be weird, isn’t it? Him being here?”
Oscar’s an old friend of yours, and your roommates, too. Old, like preteens old. He left for the UK so long ago that you’d probably barely remember what he looked like if it weren’t for video calls and social media and now, his face being plastered everywhere. You’ve kept up, have stayed friends through it all. But it’s the first time you’ll be seeing him in person in over a year, the first time he’s ever going to visit your shared house, the first time since… since he became Oscar Piastri and not just Oscar.
Lizzy shrugs. “Only weird if we make it weird, right?”
She’s right, to a certain extent. Your other roommate, Leo, shows up with Oscar in tow, and you do your best to not be weird about it, and you think it works. He greets you and Lizzy with long hugs. He smells like sea salt and something warm. His body’s much more firm and filled out than he was the last time you saw him, which makes sense, you suppose. He still smiles like golden yellow sunshine, though, crinkled eyes and round cheeks and that near permanent blush on his face.
The pizza arrives shortly after he does, and you all settle into the living room to catch up. Oscar tells stories about racing, about his first year in F1, about his teammate and his competitors. You’ve been keeping up with the races more than you ever did before- Leo always wanted to watch but you hadn’t cared that much before it was Oscar, before the guy in the orange car was the same kid who used to finger paint with you in the backyard, your mother worried about the mess. Now you sit glued to the TV most Sundays.
In turn, you, Lizzy, and Leo update Oscar on what he’s missed. All about your family lives, your jobs, your other friends he’s lost touch with. He listens intently to each story, the way he always has.
“What are you doing for work?” He asks, nudging your knee.
You sigh dejectedly. “Nothing fun.”
He pouts. Leo elbows you and speaks up, though.
“She’s still painting, though,” he says brightly. “You should see the sunroom.”
Oscar’s face lights up. “Is that your studio? You always said you wanted a sunroom.”
He’s always been one of your biggest supporters when it comes to your art. He’s the one who’d join you in the art room at lunchtime in school, eating his lunch at one of the counters while you worked on your latest piece, unable to put the paintbrush down. He’d attended all your art shows, had bought you paints and brushes and sketchbooks for birthdays and Christmases, and had even posed for a portrait you’d been required to paint for class. He’d had a hard time sitting still for that long without falling asleep.
You nod with a smile growing on your face. “Living the dream with that one.”
The night slips away from all of you, caught up in conversations about everything under the sun. You find yourself feeling sad when Oscar goes to leave. He does it with hugs and a promise to be back in a few days. When he leaves through the front door, you feel that emptiness again, that hole that’s never healed quite right after he left.
Lizzy sees it on your face and squeezes your shoulder. “He’ll be back.”
Two days later, you’re deep in painting mode, eyes beginning to ache as you stare at the canvas in front of you, when there’s a noise from the sunroom doorway. You turn and find Oscar standing there, eyes wide, brows raised. He chews on his lip sheepishly.
“Sorry,” he says, quietly. You hold back a laugh. “Leo said to come over and just let myself in, and I heard a noise, and- sorry-“
“It’s okay,” you reassure him, tilting your head and smiling. “Leo should’ve told you, he ran to the store for drinks.”
Oscar rolls his eyes, and his shoulders drop. “Right.”
“You’re welcome to hang out, though,” you say, nodding at the chair off to the side in the sunroom. “Don’t want you getting bored all by yourself.”
He hesitated. “I don’t want to be a bother.”
He never would have questioned it before. He would’ve already been sitting, would’ve already known what you were painting, would’ve helped you get your palette set up. It’s different now. He’s been gone a while.
You jut your chin towards the chair again and wave a paintbrush in that direction. “Please. You’ve never been a bother.”
He was always the only one of your friends that you allowed to watch you paint. He knew when to stay quiet, and when you needed the background noise of his voice, without ever having to ask. He shuffles over to the chair and sits down. Oscar’s gaze dances through the room with wide eyes, and when you turn back to the canvas, you can feel him watching intently.
“What do you think?” You ask, just to break the silence. You gesture at the paintings lined up around the room. “Have my skills improved?”
He lets out a slow breath. “They’re amazing,” he says, and your heart twists in your chest. “I’m so glad you kept up on it. That you didn’t lose your… you know. Passion. Sounds cheesy, but I mean it.”
You nod. Most of your friends and family had spent your teenage years trying to convince you to learn any skill other than art. You’d continued pouring yourself into the paintings. Oscar had been one of your only cheerleaders through it all.
“It’s not easy,” you admit. “Bills and shit, you know? Real adult stuff. But I’ve been trying to get into some galleries recently. I don’t know if it’ll ever be something I can make a living off of, but I’ve gotta try.”
Oscar nods in understanding. “How about when I win my first championship, I’ll make good on my promise?”
You laugh. There’d been a night just before he’d left for the UK where the two of you had stayed up late, out far past curfew at the local park. You’d laid under a tree next to him, giddy on the high of breaking the rules and the late hour. He’d told you all about his big dreams. About F1 and championships and how he was going to make it big. And when you’d asked if he’d remember you, he’d smiled and turned his head towards you, eyes wide in the pale moonlight, nose nearly touching yours.
“I’ll use my money and open a gallery,” he’d promised. “And I’ll fill it with all of your paintings.”
You’d rolled your eyes. “Even the bad ones?”
He’d nodded, so seriously. “Especially the bad ones.”
Now he sits next to you in your makeshift studio, so close to reaching his dreams. You can only hope you’ll get there, too, someday.
There’s a party at your house that night. There’ll be more people there than usual, wanting to talk with Oscar and taking up his time. But for now there’s just you and him in the studio you’ve always wanted, the one you talked about under the tree in the park. You’ll take what you can get.
Oscar finds you later at the party, in the back corner of the backyard. The sun is nearly gone, the last bits of daylight slipping away. When he walks up, you’re leaning back in an outdoor armchair, and you smile hazily up at him and hold out the joint you’d been smoking.
He shakes his head. You pout.
“I get drug tested,” he says, and you suppose that’s understandable. “And I think my trainer would kill me over the lung damage.”
“It’s just once,” you friend says next to you, “can’t do that much damage.”
“Oscar’s a high performance athlete,” you tease.
Someone finishes the infamous Daniel Ricciardo quote for you, complete with the sound effects. You’re not really listening, more focused on how Oscar rolls his eyes as he sits down on the arm of the chair. You tilt your head to look up at him.
The late sun is hitting the bridge of his nose, a bright orange band against his freckled skin. He blinks at you with thick lashes, and you wonder how you’d capture the look on his face with paint- the softness of his cheeks, the care that sits heavy on his browbone, the restlessness in the curve of his mouth. You don’t like to do portraits- Oscar’s one of few people you’ve painted, but it was years ago. He was a skinny kid with a bad haircut. Now his jawline is chiseled and sharp, and his hair falls over his forehead in a soft swoop. He's pretty.
He cocks his head at you. You’ve been staring too long. You force a giggle and nudge his knee. He laughs right back.
You’re not sure how he ends up squished into the chair with you, his arm over your shoulder, his bare thigh pressed to yours. You think maybe it was your doing- you grabbed his arm, pulled him until he sunk in next to you. The sun is gone, now, the evening chill taking over, and it’s nice to have him next to you, keeping you warm. His cheek is pressed to the top of your head.
“You can go, you know,” you say quietly. Most of your friends have abandoned the corner you’re in, moving to the lit back deck, or the firepit area. You and Oscar have stayed put, though.
“D’you want me to go?” He asks.
You shake your head. He laughs. “I just don’t wanna take up all your time,” you say with a shrug.
His fingers play with the ends of your hair. “I’m right where I want to be.”
You curl in closer to him. You’re right where you want to be, too.
Eventually, the two of you rejoin the group. He stays glued to your side most of the night, though. His shoulder presses against yours, and in turn, you lean against him. He grows quieter as the night goes on. That’s when you remember that his time spent with you while you were painting wasn’t just for your benefit. He’d been a quiet kid- popular, but easily exhausted by socializing. He’d liked the solitude and comfort of the art room nearly as much as you had.
In the backyard full of your old friends, he seems content to stay stuck on you. When he shoves his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, you wiggle one of yours in alongside his, hoping you’re not crossing a line. Or maybe, really, you’re hoping it’s a line he wants you to cross. When he knits your fingers together, you sigh happily.
People leave one by one, with hugs for Oscar and promises to watch the next season. He says goodbye to them and then returns quickly to your side. Soon enough, Lizzy shuffles off to bed, and then Leo stretches and does the same, and it’s just you and Oscar. You hide a yawn. You don’t want to go to bed, not yet.
He squeezes your shoulder, his arm around your back, now. He has his cheek pressed against your temple. For a moment, you wonder if you could stay stuck to him long enough to keep him here. If eventually, the two of you would fuse together. That’s probably just your wavering high speaking. He mumbles something into the side of your head. You break from your staring at the coals and make a noise of confusion.
“Missed you,” he says. “Sorry I haven’t…”
This feels like too heavy a conversation to have now, when things have felt so good and warm all night. You know it’s coming at some point, but you’ll avoid it all costs. You turn further into him and wrap an arm around his middle, and let your eyes fall closed.
“I missed you too,” you say, rubbing your thumb against his rib cage through his sweatshirt.
The two of you sit quietly for a few moments. Then, you say, “you know, I still have that portrait I did of you. How many races d’you think you need to win before I can make some money off that?”
He laughs into your hair. His hand has fallen to your side now, and he squeezes- you nearly gasp at the feeling. “I was a scrawny baby in that painting. Nobody wants to buy that.”
You giggle against him. “You were a cute scrawny baby, though.”
It’s not something you would have said all those years ago. You’d have never been caught dead admitting that you thought he was cute. But now… in the safety of the backyard, in the darkness, pressed against his side…
“You’re cuter now, though,” you say.
“Yeah?” He asks.
You nod confidently. He slips his other hand from his pocket. It comes up to hold your jaw, gently. You hold your breath. He tilts your face up towards his.
“You’re prettier than ever,” he says, softly. “And I thought you reached the limit a long time ago.”
His lips are on yours within seconds, then. It’s not the first time he’s kissed you. By now, you know it probably won’t be the last. You let it happen, opening up for him. You slip your tongue past the warmth of his lips. His hand cups the side of your face as that warm feeling melts across your skin, the one that only he brings. You’ve been searching for a replacement since the last time this happened. Nothing comes close.
He uses the arm around you to pull you into his lap. You reach up and thread your fingers into his shirt, something to anchor you in the swirling feeling of him on and around and against you again. His hands fall to your hips, trying to do the same. He kisses like Australian summers, hot and long and sunny and bright orange. His touch leaves sparks behind everywhere he goes.
When you finally break away for air, his hair is a mess, and your lips feel puffy. He grins sheepishly at you. You chew on your lower lip as he brushes a finger over the arch of your cheek.
“Sorry,” he says. Always apologizing. You know he’s not sorry for kissing you. He’s sorry for how this will eventually end.
“Don’t be,” you say, quietly. “Please. Let’s just…”
He nods, then swallows before he says, “okay.”
Then he kisses your cheek, your jaw, your temple. You giggle at the feeling and let your fingertips dance against his face and neck. He muffles another laugh into your skin.
“Missed you,” you say again.
“I missed you too,” he says.
He walks you inside. You think about inviting him to stay the night, but you think that might be a bad idea. Instead, you give him a hug and watch him walk out the front door, into the only black and blue night.
…..
You meet up with him and a few other friends at a bar a couple nights later. You walk over from your house with Lizzy, who either doesn’t notice your nervous energy, or is nice enough to just not mention it. You shouldn’t be nervous. It’s the people you’ve known for years, and it’s just Oscar. There’s no reason to be nervous.
Except for the still fading hickey he left on your neck, covered by strategically placed hair, and the way you feel his lips on your every time you close your eyes. Yeah. There’s that, sure.
The bar is crowded even before all of your friends arrive. Oscar comes in with Leo, having been out all day while you and Lizzy had to work. There are at least five people there who are acting like they haven’t seen Oscar in years, even though they were all at the party a few nights ago. You try your best to hide your jealousy. He has other friends. He probably likes them way more than he likes you, anyways.
He finds you later, standing at the bar, waiting to order a drink. He’s just- there, all of the sudden, warm shoulder pressed to yours, elbows on the countertop. He smiles softly at you when you turn to him, and he leans into you.
“Hi,” he says. “I was looking for you.”
You want to laugh, because surely he wasn’t, but- there’s something so serious in his eyes. You lean into him in response, just to watch him raise his brows and smile wider. There’s a little mole on the swell of his cheek. You want to reach out and touch it. You refrain.
“I’m here,” you finally say, nodding towards your crowd of friends in the corner. “You’ve been a busy man tonight.”
He sighs, heavily, like it’s been difficult for him. It probably has been. He’s a quiet person in general. Not one to really like being the center of attention. You wonder if he’s exhausted as easily by it now as he was before, or if his years of podium celebrations have dulled the sensation a bit. Wonder how much of your Oscar is still left, under the facade.
He chews on his lower lip lightly, and you smile softly. That’s an old habit. That’s one you recognize. You also think of the night by the firepit, how you’d pulled that same lip between your own teeth, and the noise he’d made in response. Your face grows warm.
The bartender finally turns to you. Oscar orders for both of you, because of course he knows what you’re drinking. Then you follow him back to the crowd of your friends. When he grabs your hand to pull you along, you don’t complain. You just squeeze his fingers in response.
You stumble out of the bar with him, hand in hand, hours later. He’s insistent on walking you and Lizzy home, claiming that Leo won’t be enough to keep an eye on the both of you. You’re just happy to have his fingers locked with yours, to have his shoulder brushing against you as you both sway down the sidewalk. It’s comfortably warm outside, and you hum to yourself as you walk, listening to Lizzy and Leo arguing about nothing important.
Your journey home is stopped by Oscar, who stops in his tracks suddenly. You turn back to look at him. He’s staring across the street, where there’s a neon sign lit up in the window, the word Pizza flashing like a beacon. You laugh as he tugs on your hand.
“No, come on, we’re going home,” Lizzy calls out.
“I want pizza,” Oscar says in response, deadpan.
You turn to your roommates and shrug. “He wants pizza.”
Lizzy sighs. “I want to go home.”
“You guys go,” Oscar says with a dismissive wave. “I’ll make sure she gets home safe.”
Less than ten minutes later, your legs are stuck to the vinyl of the pizza parlor booth, knee bumping Oscar’s underneath the table. There’s a pepperoni pizza between the two of you, far too much for you to actually finish.
“Yknow,” he says, waving a piece of pizza around in the air. “Logan dips his pizza in ranch.”
You laugh at the disgusted look on Oscar’s face, at the way he says ranch. You take a sip of the soda he insisted on buying for you, along with the food.
“Bet it’s good,” you admit, shrugging.
Oscar wrinkles his nose. “I’m not a picky eater, but… isn’t pizza good enough on its own?”
You shrug, pretending to think deeply about it. Except that Oscar knows you well enough to know you’re pretending, so he starts laughing. And then you follow suit, doubled over in the booth, grease from the pizza on your fingertips.
As his laughter fades, he presses his knee against yours. It feels deliberate.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he says.
Something twists in your chest. “Missed you, too, Osc.”
Your friendship goes through cycles. When he’s here, it’s almost like nothing has changed. But when he’s gone… the two of you aren’t good at long distance friendship. Or maybe, really, you’re better at it than most. You can go months without talking and pick up like nothing has changed. The tough part comes when he’s here, within reach, and then he leaves. That’s the moment you dread, the part you don’t handle well. It would probably be easier if you stopped kissing him every time he came home. But you look across the table, and his lips are soft and cherry pink and slightly shiny from the pizza, and you know that would be impossible.
“I’ve missed you too,” you say, because you know he needs to hear it even if he already knows it. “I was worried that maybe now that you’re in F1, you’d gotten too important for… us.”
You really mean me, but it feels a bit too much to say out loud. You think he knows, anyways. He reaches a hand across the table, lays it over top of yours. There’s a sad smile on his face.
“I could never,” he says, eyes drilling right into yours. “Promise.”
He walks you home, hand in hand. The front porch light is on, probably Lizzie’s doing. He insists on coming all the way up to the front door, which is sweet and does absolutely awful things to your brain. Because he’s right there, his hand in yours, and you’re fumbling for your house key in your purse, but really you’re thinking about kissing him. When his fingers squeeze yours, you give up on the key and turn to him.
He knows it’s coming, you think. When you cup his face in your hand, he’s already leaning in.
The kiss is softer, messier, than the other night. You’re both still a little tipsy. But it’s less frantic, more comfortable. His other hand falls to your hip, and you lean back against the front door to your house and melt into him. He presses against you, warm, firm muscle against every curve of your body. You don’t want this to end. You want to wrap your arms around his neck and beg him to stay right here, to never leave, to come back to you.
He pulls away first. You try to kiss him again, hands tugging at his hips as he pants through reddened lips.
“You’re drunk,” he mumbles.
You shake your head no. “Not that drunk.”
He leans in close and kisses your cheek. “This is a bad idea.”
That makes your gut twist, makes your chest hurt. You roll your eyes and turn away so he won’t see the way your tears well up. He’s right, you know, but it hurts to hear it.
“I care about you. A lot,” he says, quietly. “And I… if things were different…”
“I know,” you say, because you do know. “Yeah. Bad idea. You should go.”
You leave him standing on the porch and disappear inside the house. When you lay down in bed, you lay awake for hours, swirls of color dancing behind your eyelids.
…..
The next night, you find yourself in your studio, alone. There’s paint on the canvas in front of you- not the good stuff you’d normally use, but the cheap kind you keep on hand for moments like these. Children’s finger paint, runny and thin and non-toxic. It’s running down the palette and dripping down your wrist. You’re in a pair of shorts and a sports bra, and frankly, you’d probably be wearing less if you didn’t know your roommates were due home eventually.
Oscar’s leaving tomorrow morning. At this point, the last you’ll see of him for a while will be when you left him on the porch. You swipe a bit of blue on the canvas. You’re not really painting anything, just trying to put color to the feelings. He’s leaving and he’ll be gone for a while again, and things are weird again, because he kissed you and then you kissed him and now he has to leave. You add a swipe of orange. Papaya, you think, gritting your teeth.
You wonder if things really would’ve been different. If he’d stayed, would you be together? Would he love you the way you want him to? Maybe. Or maybe, no matter the universe, this is how it ends. Maybe there’s always a bigger dream waiting. Maybe you’re not enough for him.
There’s a knock on the door. There’s red paint on your fingertips.
“Busy,” you call out.
Someone sighs. You freeze, hand halfway to the canvas. It doesn’t sound like Lizzy or Leo.
“It’s me,” Oscar says. “Can I come in?”
You huff. “Sure.”
He opens the door and blinks owlishly at the sight of you. You know you probably look crazy. He steps into the room and shuts the door behind him. The silence is deafening. Paint runs off the palette and onto your leg.
“Rough day?” He asks, because he knows.
You laugh bitterly. “You could say that, yeah.”
“I’m-“
“Don’t apologize,” you say with a sigh. “I’m not sorry.”
“No?”
“No,” you say. “I’m just… frustrated.”
Frustrated that he gets to live out his dream while you wither away in the hot Australian sun, waiting for your chance. Frustrated that every time he comes back it sends you into a tailspin. Frustrated that he’s leaving again. Frustrated with yourself for kissing him, frustrated that you want to do it again.
He crosses the room and stands next to you. You watch his shaky fingers drag through the mess on the palette. Then he reaches out and drags them through the mess on the canvas. He’s the only one you’d let do that, the only one who’d be brave enough to even try.
You follow suit, dip a finger in the yellow and smear it in a line over the canvas. Oscar’s finger falls to your wrist, scoops the bright blue from your skin and draws a squiggle with it. Cadmium Yellow and Phthalo Blue mix on the canvas and turn into envy green. Oscar dips his hand into the Cobalt Violet and draws a line of it up your arm like a bruise. You laugh and pick up the Ultramarine Blue to match the empty feeling in your chest. It leaves behind rivers on his cheeks when you hold his face in your hand and kiss him. Gently, first, and then with all the color you can muster up. You drop the palette on the floor. It splatters everywhere.
You wonder how you’d go about painting this. Red for the brush of his tongue, the bite of his teeth against your neck. Blue for the way his fingers dig into your hips. Bright pink for the way he moans into your mouth, breathy and broken and oh-so-lovely. The way you drop to your knees is lavender purple. The feeling of him heavy on your tongue, the way he sighs over it, is sunflower yellow.
He gets paint in your hair when he pulls you off of him, and then he sinks to his knees with you. You think about suggesting the couch, but then he’s pulling you all the way down onto the floor and you can’t bring yourself to protest. He cleans the paint from his hands first, always a gentleman. Then his fingers slip into you in a rush of an orangey-yellow feeling, one that turns more and more pink with each press of his hand, each swipe of his thumb against your clit. And when he finally presses his cock into you, it’s the brightest burst of sky blue behind your eyelids.
The colors melt together in your mind. You’d never be able to put this onto a canvas- not the way he breathes so heavy in your ear, the way his fingers drag against your skin, the way you shake as you clench around him and he spills himself inside of you. There’s no way you’d get the color right.
You drag him upstairs afterwards, both of you giggling, and you gasp when you hear the front door open just as you pull him into your bedroom. You head for the attached bathroom first, drag him under the hot spray of water and watch the rainbow mix into brown and wash away down the drain. There’s paint crusted in his hair and yours- you do your best to scrub it out as he leans heavily against you.
You don’t even bother asking if he wants to stay. You just drag him to the bed and toss him a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants you think are Leo’s. He doesn’t question it. You can hear your roommates downstairs talking. You wonder if they know.
Oscar flops onto the bed and reaches for you, tugging at the hem of the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing. You go easily, willingly, eagerly. He wraps you up in his arms and presses his face into your neck.
“I…” he starts, then cuts himself off.
“I know,” you murmur, because you do. “Me too.”
I love you. I wish it was different. I would stay if I could. I’ll miss you.
You wake up in the morning to his lips against your cheek. You drag yourself out of bed to walk him to the door. Your chest aches, and the feeling is a color that you can’t quite put your finger on. Someone’s there to pick him up and take him to the airport, take him far away for a long time.
He kisses you on the forehead and squeezes your shoulder. “I’ll see you soon,” he promises.
You nod and lean up to kiss his cheek. “Yeah. See you soon.”
The ache he leaves behind is a muddy mix of all your favorite colors.
…..
Six months later, you stand in an art gallery full of people. Your paintings hang on the wall nearby. You sip your drink and try to pretend like you’re not waiting and watching their every little reaction. Like you’re not searching for validation in the faces of strangers.
It’s strange to have these paintings hung up for everyone to see. When others look at them, they see pretty landscapes or flowers or a simple still life. They don’t know the meaning of it all.
You step away to grab another drink, something to quell the anxiety rising in your chest. When you come back, the one person who might just see through the facade is standing there, staring, wide eyed.
You swallow tightly and walk up next to him, and let your shoulder bump into his. “You made it.”
Oscar’s eyes stay trained on the paintings, but he leans into you. “Of course I made it.”
You want to tell him that there’s no of course here, that you’d invited him without really expecting him to show up. You keep your mouth shut though. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that he is here.
“What do you think?” You ask, quietly.
The truth is, of all the people in the gallery, his opinion is the one that matters most. You wonder what he sees when he looks at the canvases. Does he see the rays of sunlight on a table for what they truly are- a poor recreation of the sun on his skin? Does he realize that the deep purple of the plums in the still life matches the bruise on your knee that lasted for weeks after that night in the studio, the one you’d press your thumb into when your heart ached? There’s the painting of the orange lilies, color matched to the papaya of his car and race suit. There’s a painting of an empty table setting, a painting of a wide open blue sky over the backyard, and most telling of all, there’s the fabric study of his t-shirt, left behind, draped over the chair in the studio.
The collection is the closest thing to a portrait that you’ve done in years, even though there are no people in it. It’s the closest thing to a self portrait that you’ve ever done. Does he know?
His hand brushes against your elbow. He points at the empty plate on the empty table. “That’s how leaving felt for me, too, you know.”
You could cry, just knowing he understands. Instead, you nod and lean into him. You have people to talk to, art critics to impress and studio owners to try to convince, but the truth is that Oscar will always be the only one who truly understands. You stay with him for just a moment longer.
He stays the whole time, even as people begin to leave and the catering staff starts clearing the tables of food and drinks. You find him after you’ve had the last of your conversations with the important people. He’s standing near the door, looking only slightly out of place, scrolling on his phone.
“You didn’t have to stay the whole time,” you say.
He shrugs and smiles. “I know. I wanted to. There’s a pub down the street, it’s one of my favorites. D’you have time for a drink?”
You nod and pout. “Maybe some food too? M’starving.”
He nods eagerly in agreement. He leads you out of the gallery, holds the door for you and everything. The cool London night air hits you like a blast as you step outside.
Right. You’re not in Australia.
It’s a strange feeling, being here with Oscar- his chosen home for all these years, and yet it’s the first time you’re seeing it with him. He reaches for your hand on the sidewalk and tucks it into his jacket pocket, right alongside his. The pub isn’t far- when you get there, it’s crowded and warm, and he helps you slip your jacket off your shoulders. You smile at him in thanks. When he smiles back, your heart skips a beat.
Ten minutes later, you’re at the bar, beers in front of each of you and a pile of chips between the two of you. Your knee is pressed against his under the countertop. He’s smiling at you, his face lit up golden yellow in the inky gray light of the bar.
“So. What did you really think?” You ask, leaning towards him.
He shakes his head, almost disbelievingly. “The same thing I always think. Your paintings are amazing. It was like I could feel it, you know? Like I’m staring at, I dunno, fucking plums, but feeling something completely different.”
You nod, chest feeling tight. You’re unsure of what to even say. How to explain to him that maybe he’s the only one who feels that, because all the paintings are about him. You think of the portrait you did all those years ago, sitting in your storage, and how it doesn’t even begin to do him justice.
“How much?” He asks, and you blink widely. “I wanna buy them. I want- yeah.” He has this dreamy, hazy look on his face. “Can I buy them? Or even just one-“
“Osc,” you murmur. You reach out and press your hand over his on the countertop. “You don’t have to do that.”
He tilts his head at you, and when he speaks, his voice is almost raw. “I meant what I said, you know. The plate. That’s how I’ve felt. All of the art, it’s… you know.”
“I know,” you say. “But they’re not for sale.”
He deflates. You squeeze his hand and try not to grin too widely. “Right,” he says. “No, of course, sorry. Just thought it might be cool to have some of them in my apartment. We could get prints made, right?”
“Sure. “ you pause and take a deep breath. “The gallery wants to extend them,” you say, and his face lights up again. “The curator spoke to me after the show. She wants to keep them up for a few months.”
“That’s amazing,” he gushes, leaning over and pulling you into a hug so tight it almost topples you off the barstool. “Oh, wow, baby, that’s- and I could go see them, then, even when you’re gone?”
You laugh against his chest. “Yeah. Sure. Or, um…”
He freezes, the hand that had been sweeping up your back stuck in place. He’s holding his breath. You might be too.
“They offered me an artist’s residency,” you blurt out. “They want me to come stay for six months, maybe longer if it goes well. Work out of their studio, show art, teach some classes.”
Oscar’s voice is breathy and high pitched when he says, “here?”
You nod against his chest. “I mean. I’d have to find an apartment. And move all my stuff. And probably break Leo and Lizzy’s hearts.”
“But you’d be here,” he says. “Here, like… it took me twenty minutes to get here tonight. And you’d- this is what you’ve dreamed of, isn’t it?”
You nod, eyes burning with tears. “Would that be okay?”
Oscar laughs- you feel it more than hear it, in the shake of his shoulders and the rumble in his chest. “Yeah. I could live with that, I think.”
He kisses you in the bar, nearly pulls you off the stool with the force of it. You kiss him right back, bracing your hand on the countertop, not a care in the world who sees it. Fireworks light up behind your eyes like splashes of paint.
…..
There’s not a sunroom you can turn into a studio in your new apartment in London. It’s a smaller space, and you end up doing most of your painting at the main studio anyways. But Oscar is there, perched on the edge of a table watching you paint whenever he can. And in the entryway of your new place, you hang up the old portrait of him, right next to a photo of the two of you taken just after you moved to London.
In the photo, his arm is around your shoulders, his lips against your temple. He’d asked you to be his girlfriend officially seconds after it was taken, but there’s a light in both of your eyes that tells you it was inevitable, really. It’s something in the way he’s smiling, in the way his cheeks burn red and his lips are pink and the way you smile at him, too. Like you’ve both known it all along. That the two of you have always been complementary colors, just waiting for the right moment.
a/n: been working on this one for a while finally got it! hope you enjoyed thanks for reading!
Taglist: @4-mula1 @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @ggaslyp1
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